The Calm Before
by Mallinder
Summary: A collegiate discovers that he has a special ability that has the potential to devastate entire cities and quickly learns that even evolution can have a dark side.  [My first fic! Eee!]
1. Woes

**The Calm Before by Mallinder**

**Summary:** A collegiate discovers that he has special abilities and quickly learns that even evolution has a dark side.

**Rating:** PG-13, course language

**Disclaimer:** Any characters you recognize from 'Heroes' are clearly from 'Heroes' and don't belong to me. Everything else is mine mine mine!

**Notes:** This is my first attempt at writing. Like, ever, so please be gentle. Any comments or constructive criticism would be welcome. Enjoy(I hope)!

**Chapter 1 - Woes**

**Oliver Gordon & Stanford Grant, Torrington, Connecticut.**

"Mr. Gordon."

Oliver stared blankly ahead, chin resting on his propped up arm.

"Mr. Gordon."

His eyes felt droopy. He just wanted to crawl back to The Cave and sleep for the next six weeks.

"Mr. Gordon!"

A kick to his ankle. "Dude, you're drooling."

Oliver lifted his head immediately and looked to his left. His best friend, Stanford, was sitting there, nodding his head towards the front of the class.

"Huh?" Oliver turned and looked at his professor.

"Mr. Gordon, have you been paying any attention at all?" His professor, a stiff old man who believed in obedience over all things, openly glared at his pupil.

"Yes" Oliver replied, hoping that would end it. Of course, he knew that it would not. Professor Moran liked to make examples out of disobedient students.

"Oh you have? Can you tell me then, Mr. Gordon, how the ideologies in popular music in our contemporary society are reified and legitimized?"

Oliver stared ahead silently for a few moments before dropping his eyes to his desk, an admission to his guilt.

"Mr. Gordon, this is not high school. I will not coddle you anymore. It is utterly disrespectful to not give your full attention to me while I teach and I refuse to repeat myself. Do I make myself clear?"

Oliver only nodded. He could feel the head rushing up his neck and into his face. He knew he must be red as a tomato. Beside him, Stanford snickered.

"Good. Now, carrying on..."

The end of class couldn't have come sooner. When Professor Moran finally dismissed them, Oliver was the first out the door. Stanford was only a few feet behind

"What an ass." Stanford said as he caught up, shifting his backpack to the other shoulder.

"I didn't see you jumping in there to defend me." Oliver replied.

"I was actually paying attention in class. And don't ask me to explain what he was saying, either."

"What, do you refuse to repeat him too?"

"No, I don't know what the hell he was talking about." Stanford said as they stepped outside. It was a dreary April day, chilly and overcast.

Oliver paused and reached into his bag, pulling out several pieces of paper stapled together. "I finally finished this damn essay," he said as he made his way to his next class. The building was across campus but he could make it if he hurried. Stanford was finished for the day, but the residence room they shared was in the same area.

"And?" Stanford asked as they quickened their pace.

"And I'm glad it's over. This thing is worth fifty percent of my mark. Today's the last day to hand it in and–Oof!" Oliver was knocked back a foot or two as some shmuck in a black hat ran into him. Worse than the collision and possible dislocation of his shoulder, though, was the fact that his essay had slipped from his grip. Thankfully, it landed on the dry sidewalk. Oliver looked at the retreating man with disdain. Students could be so rude sometimes.

"Hey, watch it!" Stanford called out after the man before turning to Oliver. "Damn, do you think you need a doctor?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Not for you, for your essay! That thing is precious, remember? Worth fifty percent of your mark?"

Oliver smirked and rolled his eyes before bending down to pick up his essay. But something about it was slightly off. The ink was smudged in a couple spots. Then another spot began to smudge. Then he felt something wet his the back of his head. He looked up at the sky and groaned. Darker clouds had moved in and it was beginning to rain. He scooped up his essay and slid it inside his coat to protect it from the water.

"Damn, it's just not your day today, is it?" Stanford said as they hurried along, eager to get out of the rain.

"Guess not. See you back at The Cave." Oliver replied as he hurried into the building. Stanford left to go home.

Oliver raced up the stairs of the building, taking a quick moment to look at his watch. "Shit" he mumbled. He was late. He approached the door to the classroom and breathed a quick sigh of relief. There were still students handing in their papers. He couldn't be that late. Oliver stepped into the back of the line and waited patiently for his turn. When it was his turn to slip his paper into the drop box the professor put his hand over the slit.

"Your paper is late, Mr. Gordon."

"What? No it's not." Oliver replied, sincerely hoping that the professor was joking.

"I'm afraid it is. The syllabus clearly states that all papers must be submitted before 4:35. It is 4:38."

"Oh come on!"

The professor only met him with an unrelenting stare.

"You've got to be kidding me." Oliver whispered, suddenly realizing that most of the class was watching the classroom drama unfolding before them. "What about everybody else in line?"

"They were in the classroom before 4:35. You were not. I'm afraid I have to give you a ten percent penalty." The professor fixed Oliver with a stare that suggested his mind was made up.

Oliver could do nothing but give in. "Fine" he mumbled, leaving the paper on the table, rather than in the box. Without another word, Oliver turned and exited the classroom, clenching his jaw. He didn't want to bother with staying. He wouldn't learn anything anyways, not in the foul mood he was in.

He paced back down the stairs, opened the front door of the building and was met with a wall of water. A shock of lightning zipped across the sky overhead, closely followed by a loud clap of thunder. Oliver's groan was audible, even over the harsh pattering of rain. The last thing he needed was to be caught in a thunderstorm on the way home. But caught he was. He lifted the hood of his sweater and ducked into the rain.

His residence wasn't too far away, but by the time he arrived Oliver was soaked to the skin. He trudged up the stairs, leaving a trail of water behind, until he reached the third floor. He walked through the hallways until he came to The Cave, room C68. He could hear something through the door. It sounded like Stanford, rapping along to his ever growing play list of music Oliver couldn't stand. He entered the room and immediately froze. Stanford was not only rapping, but he was in full gangster form. Stanford was on his feet, using his arms to extenuate the beat, wearing an upside down visor, muscle shirt and a big chain around his neck. It was a far cry from what he really was - a slender white boy from Connecticut. When he realized the door to his room had been opened, Stanford yanked the chain from around his neck and spun around to face the door, hiding the chain behind his back. When he realized it was Oliver he went on the offensive.

"You aren't supposed to be back for another two hours! What about your class?"

Oliver remained silent, the woes of his day melting away at the sight of his unfortunate friend.

"Well close the door!" Stanford hollered, pushing past Oliver and closing it with a soft click. He stomped back to his laptop and turned off the music. He spun back around to face Oliver, pulling the visor from his head. "Well? Explain yourself, Gordon!"

Oliver's face broke into a soft smile which eventually grew into a huge, stupid grin.

"Oh, shut up." Stanford sneered, tossing the visor at his friends face. "Seriously though, why are you back so soon? Was class canceled because of the storm?"

Oliver shook his head, the matter of Stanford's eccentrics forgotten for now. "No. It was barely raining when I made it to class, remember? I decided not to stay because apparently I have two professors who are complete asses."

Stanford grimaced. "Go on."

"He's taking ten percent off my essay because it was late."

Stanford's eyes widened. "Really? Your oh-so-precious-worked-on-for-weeks-might-need-medical-attention-because-of-some-loser-worth-fifty-percent essay?"

Oliver nodded.

"That's balls."

Oliver shrugged. "Well, today wasn't all bad."

"Really? I fail to see how getting chewed out by two professors in the same day, getting a late penalty on an important essay and getting caught in a freak storm doesn't qualify as 'all bad'"

Oliver shrugged. "I got to see you make an ass of yourself. I think that negates everything bad that happened today."

Stanford's face went crimson, causing Oliver to break out into a hearty laugh. Outside their window, the storm was breaking.

* * *

**Mohinder Suresh, New York, New York.**

Mohinder looked down at the file in his lap. It was all there in front of him - his medical records, his academic records, his family, his history. There was even a picture. Mohinder gently tugged the picture out from under a paperclip and examined it. The man in the picture has nondescript light brown hair, the same coloured eyes and a face that was bordering on handsome. Overall, he looked distinctly average. But so were they all. Until he came knocking on their door. Most of them just slammed it back in his face, either claiming ignorance or refusing the help he was willing to give. Hopefully this next one wouldn't be so bad. Hopefully Oliver Gordon would be more receptive.

He put the picture back under the paperclip and began to rifle through the files. Twenty one, originally from Glastonbury, Connecticut. No siblings. He had a history of mental disorder, mostly depression, onset by the death of his mother. The file said his father left before he was born, so he was raised by his aunt after his mother died. His report cards seemed to show that he was a bright boy, but most of the comments left by the teachers said he lacked effort. He had been accepted into the University of Connecticut in Torrington, going into the field of media studies. So Connecticut is where Mohinder was going.

After months of correlating events in the young mans life, Mohinder had formed a hypothesis about his ability. If he was right, it would be the first case of this unique talent that he has yet encountered. It was intriguing, really, what Oliver could do. It had the potential to be many, many things if he could properly harness his powers. If Mohinder's hypothesis was correct, it could also be extremely dangerous. Mohinder closed his eyes and leaned back into the uncomfortable airport chair, waiting for his flight to board. Hopefully this time he will be believed. Hopefully this time he could help. Hopefully this time he could save somebody before it was too late.

* * *


	2. Manure

**The Calm Before by Mallinder**

**Summary:** A collegiate discovers that he has special abilities and quickly learns that even evolution has a dark side.

**Rating:** PG-13, course language

**Disclaimer:** Any characters you recognize from 'Heroes' are clearly from 'Heroes' and don't belong to me. Everything else is mine mine mine!

**Notes:** This is my first attempt at writing. Like, ever, so please be gentle. Any comments or constructive criticism would be welcome. Enjoy(I hope)!

**Chapter 2 - Manure**

**Oliver Gordon & Stanford Grant, Torrington, Connecticut.**

"Not bad, Mr. Gordon." Stanford said as he flipped through the pages of a recently marked essay. Classes had ended for the day and they were on their way back to their residence room. "Eighty-seven percent. Not bad at all." Stanford contemplated for a quick moment before smirking. "Did you sleep with him or something?"

Oliver snatched back his essay and lightly punched Stanford in the shoulder. "Don't be gross, you cow. I just worked really hard."

"It's more like you worked _him_ really hard." Stanford mumbled with a grin.

Today was certainly a better day than yesterday. The sun was shining, the wind was warm and Oliver had gotten a pleasant surprise in the form of his essay. Stanford was less than pleased with his mark, a lowly sixty-two, but that wasn't enough to bring his perpetually happy friend down. "So what do you say we go and grab a beer later on? Pick up a chick or two?"

"What, are you going to rap them some poetry or something? Charm them over with your lyrical skills and your bling-bling?" Oliver shot back with a smirk and a glint in his eye.

Stanford immediately sobered, a reddish glow creeping up his cheeks. "That's not funny."

"I beg to differ!" Oliver replied jubilantly, "I find it quite hilarious!"

"Well at least I don't–"

"Oliver Gordon?"

Both men paused and turned around. Standing behind them was a thirty-something Indian man, a quizzical yet expectant look on his face. "Are you Oliver Gordon?"

Oliver nodded. "I am."

The Indian's face broke into a warm smile as he stepped closer, extending his hand. "My name is Dr. Mohinder Suresh. I am a geneticist. I was hoping I could have a few words with you."

"Uh, sure," Oliver replied, shaking the doctor's hand. "About what?"

"The results from your donation to the Human Genome Project showed some abnormalities I would like to discuss with you."

"You're a mutant!" Stanford chimed in, his face brightening.

"Oh, shut up," Oliver replied. "Listen, I'll meet you back at The Cave later. We can get drunk and blind chicks with our bling-bling some other time."

"Sure. See you later, mutant." Stanford said with good-nature, leaving Oliver and the doctor to talk about his abnormalities.

Oliver turned back to Dr. Suresh. "I'm sorry, but I don't remember ever donated any DNA to the Human Genome Project."

"You wouldn't. You were only four at the time. Your mother actually provided the project with a sample of your DNA along with a sample of her own."

"Oh. Okay. What kind of abnormalities are we talking about here? Do I have Turner syndrome and didn't know it or something?

"Turner syndrome is a genetic disorder that only affects females." Dr. Suresh replied. He shook the thought away. "But that's beside the point. Perhaps we should sit down. I'll buy you a cup of coffee."

Oliver shrugged. "Sure. There's a nice diner just off campus."

"Excellent. By they way, how are you feeling today?" Dr. Suresh asked with a strange level of sincerity.

"I'm fine." Oliver replied, a little taken aback by the question.

"Good. Good. Yes, that's very good indeed."

* * *

He couldn't find him. He knew he was here, he just couldn't find him. He hated places like this. There were too many people, too many buildings and too many places to hide. It would have helped if he had a picture of the boy, but all he had was a name. It would have to do. It was all he really needed anyways. Besides, sometimes it was fun to drag these things out. Play a little hide and seek, a little cat and mouse. Of course, in the end the cat always won. And to the victor goes the spoils.

* * *

Oliver was beginning to feel a little nervous now. It's almost never a good sign when somebody suggests you sit down before they break the news to you. The doctor's refusal to speak about his abnormalities on the way to the diner didn't comfort him either. But now they were here and Oliver was waiting for an answer. The doctor had insisted on a patio table so they could enjoy the day.

"Okay, so what's this all about?" Oliver asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Like I was saying earlier, seventeen years ago your mother donated a sample of her DNA and a sample of yours to the Human Genome Project."

Oliver nodded.

"From the sample that was donated, I was able to isolate a specific genetic quirk in your DNA."

Oliver nodded again, trying to remain patient. _'Get to the point already'_ he thought. The suspense was killing him.

"I believe that this genetic quirk has enabled you to have certain...special abilities, let's say," the doctor said. Oliver noted that Dr. Suresh looked decidedly uncomfortable at this point, like he was expecting rejection. Unfortunately, Oliver had to burst the doctors bubble.

"What, like I should be some sort of Mensa genius? Trust me, I'm not."

"No, no. Nothing like that. I mean a different kind of ability, one that is unique to you and only you."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

Dr. Suresh sighed before replying. "Oliver, I believe you have the ability to control the weather."

Oliver blinked. It was the only thing he could do. Maybe he didn't hear him right. "I beg your pardon?"

"There are people I know who can do extraordinary things, Oliver. I know of a woman who has strength that no human has ever possessed before. There is a man I know of who can walk through walls. I even know somebody who can paint the future. They all have the exact same genetic quirk that you do. That's what leads me to believe you have special abilities too. Specifically, it is my belief that you can control, or have some sort of influence on the weather."

Oliver stared at Dr. Suresh for a moment or two before rising slightly from his chair and peering around the patio. There were a couple of old professors chatting, a student with his face buried in a book, a thirty-something guy who looked rather distracted, and a female student who had fallen asleep on top of her textbook. Nobody he knew. Good. So this little meeting with the doctor wouldn't get around. He lowered himself back into his chair and stared at Dr. Suresh. When he saw the look of determination and sincerity on his face, Oliver could only laugh. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am, and if you would just let me explain, I can tell you why."

"I hate to break it to you, dude, but nobody can control the weather. Especially me."

"Just let me explain."

Oliver lifted his palms in resignation. He would hear him out. Stanford would get a kick out of it, anyways.

Dr. Suresh bent over and pulled a thick file from his briefcase and laid it open on the table. "For a few months now I have been correlating events in your life and weather phenomena in your general vicinity. Now, your medical records show–"

"Wait, how did you get my medical records?" Oliver interrupted.

Dr. Suresh smirked. "I have a friend in New York who can be very persuasive. Anyways, let me finish. It says here that when you were a teenager, you were having mental health problems, severe depression, things like that. Within that time frame, the state of Connecticut had a record amount of consecutive days with heavy precipitation."

"So? That must be coincidence." Oliver argued, although he didn't really know why he was bothering to argue. It wasn't true. He couldn't control the weather. It's impossible.

"Perhaps that occasion was, perhaps not," Dr. Suresh replied calmly. "Oliver, your emotions have been well documented by your therapist. Every time that you had a mental crisis of some sort, the weather went through a drastic change that couldn't be explained by meteorologists. Haven't you ever noticed that? Haven't you ever noticed that when you are feeling particularly unhappy the weather always seems take a turn for the worst?"

Oliver had noticed that, actually. He thought it was strange how that always seemed to happen. But that still didn't mean he controlled the weather. "So, what, you think that the weather reflects whatever I'm feeling?"

"That's exactly what I think," Dr. Suresh replied.

Oliver chewed on his lip for a moment or two, studying the doctor's face. He looked sincere. Slowly, he tilted his head back and stared up at the sky. "Dr. Suresh, I think you better get an umbrella."

Mohinder looked taken aback, but pleased. It was rare that he got a demonstration on his first visit. "Why would I need an umbrella, Oliver?" he asked, although he felt he already knew the answer.

"Because," Oliver replied, the corners of his lips curving up into a grin. "It's going to start raining manure."

That certainly wasn't the answer Mohinder was expecting. "Manure? Why on Earth would it rain manure?"

Oliver brought his head back down and fixed Dr. Suresh with a critical stare. "Because I _feel_ like you're full of crap."

Dr. Suresh looked dejected, even insulted.

"No offense, doctor, but you can't possibly believe that my emotions control the weather."

Dr. Suresh steeled himself before he made his next argument. It was a harsh point to make, but he felt like he must make it. "On May 14th, 1992–"

"Don't" Oliver warned, his face instantly sobering.

"May 14th, 1992," Dr. Suresh continued, refusing to be talked down, "is the day that your mother was killed by a drunk driver."

"Stop it." Oliver warned again, fixing Dr. Suresh with an icy stare.

"The police report states that the family was informed of her death at 5 p.m. that day. One hour later, the strongest storm to ever be recorded in Connecticut hit. An F5 tornado, the strongest there could possibly be, touched down just outside of Glastonbury, your hometown."

"I said stop it," Oliver hissed through clenched teeth.

"Oliver, a tornado hasn't been recorded in that area of Connecticut for thirty years prior to that event."

"Okay. That's it. I'm leaving." Oliver spat, picking up his bag and standing. "You'll be lucky if I don't call the cops on you for stealing my medical records." He turned to walk away and immediately froze. The bright, sunny day that he had woken up to and enjoyed all day was gone. The sky looked threatening now, dark and overcast.

"That's funny," Dr. Suresh said from behind him. "The newspaper said it should be sunny skies all week. That's twice they've been wrong now. I wonder why."

"Stay away from me," Oliver muttered before storming off.

Mohinder sighed as he watched Mr. Gordon walk away. He thought it was going well. Maybe he pushed too far for the first visit. He gathered his things from the table and packed them away before pushing his chair back and standing. He walked a few steps to the nearby table with the distracted looking man. "Well? What do you think?"

"I think he's seriously considering it," the man replied. "He just needs a little convincing. This isn't happening_ to_ him, like it happened _to_ me. It's happening around him. He's confused and more than a little scared about it. He also thinks you're an asshole. Be a little gentler next time."

Mohinder briefly nodded at the advice. "Thanks for helping me out, Matt."

Matt Parkman shrugged and smirked. "It's not a problem. Anyways, I think I know how to get through to him."

* * *

Oliver stomped all the way back to his residence, his mind of flurry of thoughts. How could this possibly be happening? It wasn't. It was impossible. Nobody could control the weather. But all of these events couldn't merely be coincidence. He saw the newspaper. It was supposed to be a warm, sunny, cloudless week. That's twice now he has been upset this week and twice that the weather has taken a sudden turn for the worse.

He pushed the door to his residence open and headed for the stairs. He didn't want to take the elevators. Physical movement helped him sort out his thoughts. As he started to climb, he thought of the tornado. The night his mother had died. He had been devastated. Utterly devastated. Unfortunately, so had the state of Connecticut, by an F5 tornado. He reached the third floor and walked through the hallways until he made it to The Cave, room C68. Fortunately, this time Stanford wasn't in his gangster garb. He did, however, spin away from his laptop when he heard Oliver open the door.

"Mutant boy! How'd it go?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Oliver grumbled before flopping down on his bed.

"Woah, woah. Are you okay? What did he say? Do you have Turner syndrome or something?"

"Turner syndrome is a genetic disorder that only affects females, believe it or not" Oliver replied.

"Then what? You're not sick, are you?"

"Depends on what your definition of sick is."

Stanford wheeled his chair next to Oliver's bed and looked down at his friend with concern. "What's going on, man?"

Oliver remained silent, staring up at the ceiling, taking deep, calming breaths.

Sensing that he wasn't going to get an answer from his friend, Stanford wheeled back to his side of the small room and rummaged through his night table for a moment. "Would this cheer you up?" he asked, lifting his visor and chain from the drawer.

Oliver huffed out a laugh and grinned. "Yes, it certainly would. But I think I'd rather just go for a walk."

"Want some company?"

Oliver swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. "No, that's fine. I just need to sort out my thoughts. Alone. I'll tell you everything when I get back, but you probably won't believe me."

With that, Oliver left The Cave, thankful to Stanford for not pushing for an answer. He descended the stairs of the residence again and stepped outside. It was still overcast. He began to walk away from the building when he heard his name being called. He paused and looked around but nobody was there. He shook his head, casting it away. He was just hearing things. He walked a good distance away from the residence when he heard his name being called again.

"_Oliver!"_

He stopped again and looked around, but nobody he could see was talking to him.

"_Behind the bus stop, Oliver."_

Oliver spun around and faced the bus stop that was nearest to him. Standing behind it was the good doctor. Oliver rolled his eyes. He really didn't want to speak with him again, but he supposed he had to. When he was within talking distance, he spoke with confidence. "Listen, I've heard what you have to say. Now I want you to leave me alone."

"I want to apologize to you," Dr. Suresh said. "I'm sorry that I brought your mother into the conversation. I didn't mean to bring back any painful memories. I was just trying to prove a point and I overstepped my bounds."

"Fine," Oliver said shortly. "I still think you're full of it."

"_Well, you shouldn't"_

Oliver looked around again, growing increasingly wearisome of this headless voice he was hearing.

"Hearing things, Oliver?" Dr. Suresh asked, an infuriatingly smug look on his face.

"What the hell are you doing to me?" Oliver demanded, stepping closer to the doctor and locking eyes with him in a fierce glare.

"I'm not doing anything," Dr. Suresh calmly replied

"_I am."_

Oliver spun around again, only this time somebody was there. It was that man from the diner, the one who looked distracted by his thoughts. "You? You're doing this?"

The man nodded. "Yes. My name is Matt Parkman. I'm a detective with the NYPD." He stopped talking, but somehow Oliver could still hear him. "_And I'm special, just like you."_

Oliver stared at the man with disbelief. This was impossible.

"_It's not impossible, Oliver."_

"Okay, stop that," Oliver said, genuinely freaked out. "How are you doing that?"

"I told you, I'm special," Matt replied, adhering to Oliver's wishes.

"Matt has the same genetic marker as you do. Only his abilities have manifested in a different way than yours," Dr. Suresh supplied.

Oliver's mouth hung slightly open as he looked from Matt to Mohinder and back again. Maybe it wasn't so crazy after all. "So what exactly is it that you do, Matt?"

"So you believe us, then?" Matt asked, a grin spread across his face.

"I don't know what I believe right now. Just answer the question. Maybe I'll have it figured out by the time you're done."

"Fair enough," Matt said before launching into his story. "I can read minds. It started out as just a jumbled mess of noise. There wasn't anything distinct about it, just white noise. After a while, I could hear specific thoughts from people, but I couldn't control who I heard those thoughts from. I could be walking down the street and then it would pop into my head that somebody forgot to do their laundry. As time passed I got better and better at extracting thoughts from the people I wanted to extract them from. Here, I'll give you an example." Matt turned his head slightly away so that his ear faced Oliver.

"_What's he doing?"_ Oliver thought.

"Like I said, I'm reading your mind."

"_No way!"_

"Yes way."

"_Okay, then what am I thinking now? 'Stanford Grant is the most retarded person I know'"_

"Who's Stanford?" Matt asked, a playful smirk on his lips.

"Damn! You really can read minds, can't you?" Oliver asked with excitement. He was finally beginning to believe what he had previously thought impossible.

"I can do more than that, actually. That's the next part of my story. For the longest time I thought that reading minds was all I could do. I was wrong. Apparently I can project my thoughts as well. If I wanted to, I could have an entire conversation with somebody without ever opening my mouth."

"So where does that leave me, then? Do you give me a pill or something so I can actually control the weather, instead of just influencing it with my emotions...or whatever?"

"I'm afraid not," Dr. Suresh replied.

"If it's an injection or something I wouldn't mind."

"I'm afraid we can't actually tell you how to develop," Dr. Suresh said with a touch of sadness. "We still don't fully understand exactly how you are influencing the weather. All I have right now are hypotheses."

"Then why did you come here?" Oliver asked, a little put out.

"To let you know what you're capable of," Dr. Suresh replied.

"And to let you know that you're not the only one out there," Matt added.

Dr. Suresh nodded at this insight, then said with the gravest of tones, "Most importantly, Oliver, we came here to warn you."


	3. Run

**The Calm Before by Mallinder**

**Summary:** A collegiate discovers that he has special abilities and quickly learns that even evolution has a dark side.

**Rating:** PG-13, course language

**Disclaimer:** Any characters you recognize from 'Heroes' are clearly from 'Heroes' and don't belong to me. Everything else is mine mine mine!

**Notes:** This is my first attempt at writing. Like, ever, so please be gentle. Any comments or constructive criticism would be highly appreciated. These first three chapters I pumped out in about three days, but now that mid-term exams are coming up it will probably take a little longer for an update. I hope you enjoy!**  
**

**Chapter 3 - Run**

* * *

There were two of them now. He could sense them, even if he couldn't find them yet. There were times when they were close. He may have even walked by one of them already. No matter. He would catch up with them eventually. He even had one of their names. Oliver Gordon. Now he just had to find out where he lived. Then he would wait for his opportunity. He didn't know what Gordon could do, but that hardly mattered. He just wanted his power. He wanted it all.

* * *

**Oliver Gordon, Matt Parkman & Mohinder Suresh, Torrington, Connecticut.**

"Warn me? About what? What I can do?" Oliver asked.

"Partly," Mohinder replied, hesitating before continuing. Convincing him that he had powers was hard enough as it was. Convincing him that there was a predator out there who's only prey were those with abilities would be twice as difficult.

Matt, sensing Mohinder's reluctance to go on, decided to spare him the burden. "There is a man out there, a man named Sylar--"

"Like the watch?" Oliver asked.

"Yes, exactly like the watch," Mohinder replied.

"This Sylar," Matt continued, "has an ability, too. Well, he actually has a lot more now." Matt paused, considering how to phrase what he wanted to say next. "He's been... collecting."

"Collecting?" Oliver asked, his eyebrows shooting up. "You mean, you can collect these things?"

"It's not so much collecting as stealing," Mohinder muttered.

" I don't get it."

Tired of beating around the bush, Matt decided to tell all. If Oliver didn't believe them, Matt had brought proof along. "That man, Sylar. He kills people by ripping open their heads and stealing their brains. We don't know what he does after that, but he always ends up with the ability of his victim."

Oliver looked at them with open skepticism, a ghost of a mocking smile threatening to bloom. "You've got to be kidding me."

"_No, we're not kidding"_

"Stop that," Oliver immediately responded. "You can't honestly expect me to believe that there is a man out there that rips people's heads open and eats their brains."

"He doesn't eat them. He just...steals them."

"Whatever. Same thing. Look," Oliver said, lifting his hands in a sign of exasperation. "I went along with your theory that I can control the weather, or whatever, and I honestly believe that you can read minds," he said to Mohinder and Matt, respectively, "but you have to be nuts if you think that there is some brain stealing maniac who somehow takes the abilities of other people. It's just crazy."

Mohinder and Matt looked at each other for a moment before Matt nodded. Mohinder placed his briefcase on the ground and rummaged through it for a moment before coming out with another file. He handed the file to Matt who opened it and took out a few sheets of paper.

"This is Charlene Andrews," he said, extending a photograph to Oliver.

She was pretty. Red hair, bright smile.

"This is Charlene after Sylar found her." He handed Oliver another picture.

"Oh, shit," Oliver said, flipping the picture over so he wouldn't have to look at the gruesome scene. She had been lying on the floor, the top quarter of her head gone, the brain removed.

"This is Nicholas Datre," Matt said, giving Oliver another picture.

He was tall, gruff and bearded. Looked like an outdoors man.

"And this is Nicholas after Sylar found him."

It was grizzly. Nicholas was on the floor, staring with blank eyes at the ceiling. His head was sliced open and his brain was missing.

"Mr. And Mrs. James Walker," Matt went on, unrelenting. He handed Oliver another photograph.

There were three people in this picture. Two adults, who Oliver assumed to be Mr. and Mrs. Walker, and a young girl. The next picture that Matt handed to him was almost too much.

There was the man in the previous photograph, dead. Not only was he dead, his head sliced off like the previous two, but he was also frozen solid, icicles forming at the tip of his nose and chin. Behind him, a woman, Mrs. Walker, was pinned to the staircase with a variety of objects - kitchen utensils, a pair of scissors, a screwdriver. Her head, though, was still intact.

"How come he didn't steal her brain?" Oliver asked quietly, as if speaking any louder would be disrespecting the dead.

"Mrs. Walker's DNA showed up negative for the genetic marker that I've told you about," Mohinder said. "He didn't have a reason to steal her brain, so he just killed her."

Oliver flipped back to the previous picture and looked at the little girl. He was almost afraid to ask. He didn't want to see a picture of a little girl with her head sawed off. "What about her? What about the girl? Did Sylar get to her, too?"

Matt and Mohinder exchanged glances before Matt responded. "No, she's safe. I worked that case personally. I found her underneath the stairs. She's being looked after."

Oliver nodded solemnly. This was proof enough for him. He handed the pictures back to Matt. "How do I protect myself against him?"

"You can't. Not really."

"What do you mean I can't defend myself?"

"He can stop bullets," Matt said, "with his mind. Believe me, I shot at him once and the bullets came flying back at me."

"So then what do I do if I see him?"

"You run," Mohinder said. "Not just for yourself, but for everybody you hold dear. Sylar is not a good man. If he gains your power he will use it to his advantage. He will use it to hunt down others like you so he can take their powers as well."

"What makes you so sure he's going to find me? I mean, there are three hundred million people in the United States. Why do you think he would come to Torrington, Connecticut of all places?"

"Because he's seen the list," Mohinder said softly, casting his eyes to the ground.

Matt continued when Mohinder faltered. "Mohinder has a list of people from all over the world who have this genetic marker. The list only has a name and the city they are in, though. No addresses, no pictures. So he knows you're in Torrington, but that's about it. We just want you to be prepared."

"Actually, we want a little more than just that," Mohinder chimed in. "I was hoping you could come back to New York with us."

"New York? Why do you want me to come to New York?"

"So I can document what you can do. Hopefully if I see how, why and when you exert influence on the weather I can help you to better understand how to control it."

Oliver took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This was all insane. Yesterday he was like any other university student, drinking too much beer, falling asleep in class, eating cheeseburgers for breakfast. Now he was some sort of genetic anomaly who could control the weather and who had a brain stealing maniac after him. He ran his hand through his hair as he considered the offer. If he had Dr. Suresh and Officer Parkman around, maybe he would be safer than he would be here. New York had a lot of people in it. It would be easy to become completely anonymous in a city that big. It's not like he would be leaving much in Connecticut. Stanford was here, but he could always come and visit in New York. He could transfer schools, that wouldn't be a problem. The more he thought about it, the more is made sense.

"I'll tell you what," he finally said. "Finals are over in three weeks. I'll come to New York then."

Mohinder's face broke into a wide smile. "Excellent. Thank you. Don't worry about airfare. The flight is on me. Here, I have something for you before I go." He set his briefcase down again, reached in and pulled out a thick, blue book. "This book," he said, handing the book to Oliver, "may answer some of the questions you might have about your abilities. My home address, e-mail and phone numbers are written on the inside. Please feel free to call anytime if you have and questions."

Oliver looked down at the book and smiled. Maybe, just maybe, this could turn out to be a good thing after all. "Sure," he said, looking up. "I'll see you guys in three weeks, then?"

Mohinder nodded. "Three weeks it is. Until then."

"Stay safe," Matt added before they turned and walked away.

Oliver stood where he was for a few minutes, watching them leave. What a strange, strange day. The logical part of him contested that this was all ridiculous, that this was all just some sort of elaborate scam. His gut, though, and his heart told him differently. This was real. What was once apprehension had turned into a slight giddiness as he turned and headed back to The Cave. Stanford would get a real kick out of this.

When he made it to his room Stanford was still at his laptop. He turned around when Oliver entered. "Hey," he said with obvious concern. Like before, he didn't want to push the subject if Oliver didn't want to talk about it.

"Hi," Oliver replied simply.

There was a brief silence between them. Oliver wanted Stanford to ask, but Stanford didn't want to push. In the end, Stanford went for something that showed his concern, but wasn't intrusive. "Are you okay?"

Oliver smiled. "You might want to stay seated for what I'm about to tell you."

Stanford's face only grew more concerned. "Uh oh. That's not a good sign. It's never a good sign when somebody tells you to sit down. Might as well hit me with it."

Oliver's smile broadened as he sat down on his bed. "Okay, but trust me, you're probably not going to believe it."

**Two Weeks Later**

* * *

"Can I help you?" The girl behind the desk looked mildly disinterested. 

"Yes. I'm looking for someone. Oliver Gordon. Do you know if he lives in this residence?"

The girl spun around on her chair and wheeled herself over to a cabinet. She opened the bottom drawer and began to flip through files until she found the one that she needed. "Uh...yeah, he lives here. Room C68, with Stanford Grant. Why?" She looked up, but the man was gone.

* * *

'_Evolution is a matter of choice._

_When a mutation is introduced, a decision is made._

_Nature asks, "Does this new characteristic have value?"_

_"Does it represent progress?"_

_"Will it benefit the species?"'_

Oliver hadn't had much time to read the book Mohinder had given him, but when he did he became completely engrossed in it's content. According to Dr. Chandra Suresh, Mohinder's father he presumed, there were countless others like him out there with abilities he couldn't even imagine. Apparently there were people who could fly, people who could spontaneously regenerate and people who could teleport themselves. It was incredibly fascinating. But alas, it would have to wait. Oliver looked over at the clock in The Cave. It was almost eight. He only had one exam left but he hadn't even started to study for it yet.

As Oliver grabbed the relevant textbooks and stuffed them into his backpack, he thought back on the night he had told Stanford about his genetic anomaly. At first he had been playfully reluctant to believe, but after Oliver repeated the correlations of his significant life events and the weather phenomena to follow, Stanford began to believe. Ever since then Stanford had been bugging him about the weather. "Why did you make it so cold out today?", "I could really use a day of sunshine, mutant boy!", "Dude, you should totally conjure up a snow storm! Think about it! We could have a snow day in the middle of April!"

Of course, his answer had always been the same: he couldn't actively control it. Not yet at least.

Oliver smirked at the recollection. He would miss Stanford this summer in New York. He always found a way to brighten his day. But that was still a week away. He still had that last exam to finish before he could start worrying about anything else. Stanford was already at the library. He was zipping up his bag, after placing Activating Evolution in with his textbooks, when the lights suddenly flickered and died out. A moment later the emergency pot lights turned on. Curious, Oliver swung the backpack over his shoulder, stepped out of The Cave and looked down the hall. Almost every room along the hallway had a head or two poking out, everybody wearing the same curious expression.

Then, there was a soft thud and a voice.

"Where is room C68?" The voice was deep, menacing and somewhat cold.

The answer came from a high-pitched, frightened voice. "It's...it's down that hallway! At the very end!"

Everybody in the hallway was silent, listening to the exchange. A few heads turned and stared at Oliver, the obvious occupant of room C68.

A figure appeared at the end of the hallway, nothing more than a mere silhouette. The figure raised his arm, cupping his hand in a gripping way. Oliver could feel a tightening around his neck. As the figure stepped forward, Oliver was flung harshly back against the wall, his legs dangling a few inches off of the ground, the tightening around his neck growing stronger. Within a few moments, the figure was in front of him, fixing him with a penetrating stare. Oliver instantly recognized him. He was that bastard who had run into him a few weeks ago. The man in the black hat. Oliver noticed something else, too, something that chilled his blood. The man had a watch on. A Sylar. Oliver connected the dots quickly. This was the man he was warned about. The man who kills people then steals their brains. Sylar, just like the watch.

"Do you live in room C68?" Sylar demanded.

Oliver shook his head.

Sylar flexed his outstretched hand and Oliver could feel the invisible grip on his neck tightening, robbing him of the air he lungs were begging for. "Don't lie to me!"

Oliver weakly nodded.

"Are you Oliver Gordon?" Sylar asked, fixing him with a penetrating stare.

Oliver shook his had again. The tightening continued. He could feel his lungs start to burn and he was beginning to feel dizzy.

"You're lying again, aren't you?"

Oliver shook his head, the pressure around his neck making tears fall from the corner of his eyes. To his surprise, the vice loosened enough for him to take a ragged breath.

"If you're not Oliver Gordon, then who are you?" Sylar asked. Oliver wasn't sure if he was playing games or asking a legitimate question, but he had to hope it was the latter.

"I'm.. I'm his roommate, Stanford. Stanford Grant," he choked out.

"Where is he?" Sylar asked, lifting Oliver away from the wall and bashing him back violently.

"Seventh floor. There's a study room up there. He's probably up there studying for his last exam," Oliver said, praying that Sylar didn't know that there really was no study room on the seventh floor. To his infinite relief, the vice around his neck weakened and he fell to the floor in a heap. Sylar stepped over his body and strode towards the stairwell. Once he disappeared, the lights flickered back on.

Oliver let out a few ragged coughs before looking up. Several of his floor mates had bravely stepped out of their rooms, a few of them actually made their way over to him.

"Are you okay?" one girl asked, a girl he only knew by the name Victoria. "What did that man want?"

Oliver didn't have time to answer. He needed to leave, the sooner the better. The seventh floor wasn't that far away and he didn't want to be around when Sylar found out there was no study room. He tried to stand but found that his legs were shaking quite violently. The girl, Victoria, helped him to his feet. After taking the briefest of moments to compose himself, he dashed towards the stairwell and began descending them, jumping down entire flights to save time. When he reached the ground floor he could see a small gathering of students at the front door, peering out into the night.

"It's so thick. I've never seen a fog like this before"

"When did this happen?"

"It just rolled in a minute ago. One second it was clear as water, the next it's like pea soup."

Oliver paid no attention to them as he shouldered his way through the crowd. He didn't even know what they were talking about. There was no fog. But that hardly mattered right now. Right now he needed to run, run as far away from here as he could. As he ran, he couldn't help but notice how strange everybody was acting. The few cars that were out were going extremely slowly. The pedestrians were either feeling their way along walls or walking around with their arms outstretched. But he didn't care, not now. Behind him, he could hear a sharp crash of windows shattering. He didn't need to turn around to know it came from the seventh floor of his residence building.

Oliver ran until his body refused to let him run anymore. He was well off campus now, but that didn't mean he was safe. He needed a plan, he needed a place to hide, he needed protection. A thought dawned on him then. He swung his backpack over his shoulder and placed it on the ground. He violently unzipped it and quickly filed through his books until he found the one he wanted, Activating Evolution. He lifted it from the bag and flipped open the front cover. There was Mohinder Suresh's information. His address, his e-mail and, most importantly, his phone number. Oliver quickly scanned the vicinity and spotted a payphone not too far away. He grabbed his bag and hurried over, easily dodging the confused looking people. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, dumping an excessive amount of coinage into his palm. He slid in the coins and dialed the numbers carefully. It began to ring. And ring. And ring. Oliver bit down on his lip as he waited for Mohinder to pick up. Unfortunately, the ringing only stopped when the voice mail clicked in.

"_Hi, you've reached the cellphone of Dr. Mohinder Suresh. Please leave a detailed message and I will get back to you as soon as I can"_

"Shit," Oliver muttered before he heard the tone. "Dr. Suresh. Hi. This is, uhm. This is Oliver Gordon. From Connecticut. I.. I think you need to come back. Now," he said as calmly as he could. "I'll be at that diner off campus we went to, okay? I'll be there all day so don't worry about that. Please hurry." Then, as an afterthought, "and bring that cop friend of yours as well."


	4. Stop

**The Calm Before by Mallinder**

**Summary:**A collegiate discovers that he has special abilities and quickly learns that even evolution has a dark side.

**Rating:**PG-13, course language

**Disclaimer:**Any characters you recognize from 'Heroes' are clearly from 'Heroes' and don't belong to me. Everything else is mine mine mine!

**Notes:**This is my first attempt at writing. Like, ever, so please be gentle. Any comments or constructive criticism would be welcome. Enjoy(I hope)!

**Chapter 4 - Stop**

**Oliver Gordon, Torrington, Connecticut.**

"_I'll tell ya, Mary, I've never seen anything like this in my twenty years as a meteorologist. Our Doppler radar shows that this incredible fog is centered only over Torrington."_

"_Do you have any explanation for us, Bob?"_

"_None. My entire meteorological staff are completely baffled."_

The diner had a television situated over a small bar. It had been set to the weather channel for the entire twelve hours that he had been here. The staff had gone through two shift changes since he had arrived and there was still no sign of Dr. Suresh. Every report was the same. No meteorologist or amateur weather tracker could offer any explanation for the thick fog that had set over Torrington. The funny thing was, Oliver couldn't see any fog. To him, it was a clear day out, speckled with only a few pedestrians who were wandering around with their arms outstretched.

He had come here last night, after his encounter with Sylar. He didn't know where else to go. It was the only place he knew of that was open twenty four hours a day and had free refills on coffee. He lost count how many cups he has had so far. Fifteen, maybe sixteen. They had to start charging after number ten. To deflect any suspicion the staff might have, he had unloaded his backpack and pretended to be a student cramming for his last exam. He hadn't looked down at his textbooks once since he got them out. The past twelve hours he had spent either staring at the television, staring through the window on the lookout for Sylar or staring at absolutely nothing, lost in his own thoughts. It was an understandably slow night for the diner, and the morning didn't promise to be any busier. Aside from himself, there was only one other customer in the restaurant - a student, like himself, but this one was actually studying.

The little bell that hung over the front door of the diner jingled cheerily as somebody walked in. Every time he heard that jingle Oliver cowered lower in his seat. If Sylar happened to walk in he knew there would be no escape. But it wasn't Sylar. Not this time at least. The man who entered was wearing a chef's uniform. He hurried over to one of the bored looking waitresses, his face eager.

"Did you hear about it? It's crazy! I can't believe it actually happened!"

The waitress lifted and eyebrow and looked beyond the chef's shoulder to the window. "We have eyes, you know. It's really foggy. So what?"

The chef shook his head vigorously and stepped around the waitress to get behind the bar. He fiddled around in a few drawers for a moment or two before popping back up. "Where's the remote?"

"It's already on the weather channel. What's your deal?"

The chef waved off the comment and grabbed a chair from one of the tables, pulling it under the hanging television. Oliver was too exhausted to give the chef anything more than mild interest. The chef flipped through the channels frantically and stopped when he reached a major news channel. The chef's head was blocking the screen, so Oliver had to settle for only listening.

"_It's just shocking what has happened in Torrington," _a female newscaster was saying. _"Students, citizens and city officials are all in a state of disbelief."_

"_What more can you tell us about this event, Deborah?"_ a male newscaster replied.

There was a brief pause in the dialogue, replaced by the faint sound of papers shuffling. Then the voice returned. _"Well, it may be hard to believe, but it has been reported that the top of the victim's head was removed and that the brain was located several feet away. It's just a terrible tragedy, Clive."_

A fierce chill ran through Oliver's blood as he listened. So Sylar had killed. Was there somebody else in Torrington like him? Dr. Suresh hadn't said anything.

"_Thank you, Deborah. We'll be right back"_

"Crazy, huh?" the chef said as he stepped down from his chair, giving Oliver the first clear view of the television.

His vision tunneled as he stared at the monitor, his chest beginning to heave quicker and quicker, his hands beginning to shake around his coffee mug. On the screen, to Oliver's utter horror and infinite despair, was a picture of Stanford. Written underneath, a headline; 'Campus Killer; City Mourns.'

Oliver stared at the screen in disbelief, although deep in his soul he somehow knew it must be true. His chest heaved in quick, rapid breaths as he clenched his jaw tight to prevent himself from screaming. Oliver tore his gaze away from the television, hot tears welling in his eyes. Was this his fault? Was Stanford dead because of him? His face grew hot as he thought about the possibility. Sylar was looking for him, but he had fooled Sylar. Was this some kind of sick revenge for being duped? Stanford was the only person Oliver knew that genuinely cared for him. Did Sylar know that? Did he know and deliberately take it away?

"Holy... would you look at that.." the chef said, taking a tentative step towards the large pane windows that encompassed the diner.

Oliver's train of thought was interrupted as the window he was sitting beside began to rattle in place. He cast a glance outside, using the back of his hand to wipe away the tears that were threatening to fall. The sky outside had turned a sickly shade of black. The clouds were ominously low hanging with a definitive rotation beginning to form. He could only assume that since the chef had commented on the sky, the fog had either lifted or been blown away by the sudden bout of strong winds.

"Oh no," Oliver muttered as he watched the soft swirling of clouds above, "no, no, no." He knew what was happening. He knew why it was happening. It was just like last time. A wash of vivid, terrifying and gruesome memories tore through his mind as he recalled the aftermath of May 14th, 1992. The destruction, the helplessness, the bodies. He had to stop this. But how? He didn't know how to control the weather! He hadn't even tried yet! He attempted to remember what Dr. Suresh had said as a garbage can tumbled along the street, carried by a fierce, howling wind. Emotions! Dr. Suresh had thought it was his emotions that influenced the weather.

Oliver slid from his seat, his heart knocking harshly in his chest, and stepped into the men's washroom. He placed a hand on either side of the sink and looked at his reflection. His hair was tousled, he was sporting stubble and there were deep, red bags under his eyes. But he couldn't focus on that. He had to focus on staying calm and getting control of his emotions. He stared back at himself in the mirror and took deep, calming breaths.

"_Calm down. Take a few deep breaths. Just take it easy,"_ he repeated in his head, biting down on his lip as he stared into his own eyes. Images of Stanford flashed through his mind but he forced himself to cast them away. Right now he needed to stay completely and totally calm or else a lot of people were about to die. Through the bathroom door he could hear the previously cheerful jingling of the bell growing angry and agitated as the front door opened and slammed shut repeatedly. The wind was ferociously beating against the windows. Oliver closed his eyes, took one more deep breath and let it out slowly. When he opened his eyes he issued a single command in his mind;

"_Stop."_

The change was almost immediate. The rapid jingling of the front bell had fallen silent and the howling wind had ceased. Outside the bathroom he could hear voices.

"What in the world was that?" the familiar chef's voice asked.

"Is everybody okay?" he heard the waitress ask.

"Hey, look. The fog's back."

Oliver studied himself in the mirror, taking deep, heavy breaths. His hands were shaking violently on the sink and it felt like his knees would fail him at any moment. He had done it. He had actually done it. Somehow, someway he had controlled the weather. He told it to stop and it stopped. He shook his head quickly. He could celebrate later. Right now he needed to focus on feeling absolutely nothing. He needed to be void of emotion. No cheer, no anger and certainly no despair. He wouldn't let the memory of his best friend be the catalyst in destroying this town.

Oliver stepped out of the washroom and resumed his seat. Everybody else was gathered at the front door, gawking at the fog that had rolled in again. He buried his face in his hands and tried to focus on the most unemotional things he could think of. Pens. Pens were unemotional. There were just there, waiting to be used. They came in several colours. Black. Red. Blue. Stanford always used a blue pen, black was too morose. Oliver shook his head and focused on something else. Wood. Wood was definitely unemotional. It could be used to make many things.

"_Oliver!"_

Chairs were made of wood. Pencils were made of wood.

"_Oliver!"_

Picture frames, benches, cabinets. They were all made of wood.

"_Oliver, can you hear me?"_

Oliver lifted his head from his hands. Did he hear that?

"_Oliver, if you're there think something! Loudly!"_

He definitely heard that one. A wash of relief flowed through him. It must be Matt. But how does one think loudly?

"_**I'M HERE!!**__"_ Oliver issued mentally.

"_Woah, not that loud!"_ came the reply.

"_Sorry. I've never really done this before." _Oliver's face twisted with concentration._  
_

"_That's okay. Hold on a second."_ There was a brief silence in his mind before Matt's voice came back. _"Mohinder wants to know if you're making this fog."_

Oliver nodded. Then, realizing that Matt probably couldn't hear a nod, thought. _"I don't know. I think so. I can't really control it."_

There was a lull in the conversation. Oliver assumed it was because Matt and Mohinder were talking. _"Mohinder wants to know if you created the storm, too."_ Matt said, sounding somewhat exasperated.

"_I think so. Probably. I'm sorry."_

"_Mohinder, that's not important right now!"_ came the sharp reply, leaving Oliver understandably confused.

"_What?"_

"_Sorry, that wasn't meant for you. Listen, where are you? Mohinder said you left a message on his phone. Are you still at that diner?"_

"_Yeah, I'm still here."_

There was another lull. He could imagine the two men squabbling over what to do next.

"_Can you lift this fog? We're having a hard time finding the place."_

"_I don't know how."_

"Are you okay?"

Oliver looked up. The waitress had glided over to his table, a curious look on her face.

"Huh?"

"Are you okay?"

"Uh... yeah. Why?"

"_Oliver?"_

"Hold on"

"What?"

"_Hold on," _he mentally repeated to Matt. "Sorry, what were you saying?" he asked to the waitress.

"I was asking if you're okay. You looked like you were in pain."

"Oh. No, I'm fine."

"Would you like another cup of coffee or something?"

"_Sure."_

"_What?"_

"_Damn it, sorry. Hold on."_ He smiled at the waitress and nodded. "Sure."

By now the waitress was wearing an extremely skeptical look on her face. He couldn't really blame her. "O-okay. I'll go brew a fresh pot," she said with a nod and stepped away.

"_Okay, I'm back,"_ Oliver thought to Matt.

"_What was that all about?"_

"_The waitress was bugging me. Do you know where you are? It would be easier for me to find you right now. Trust me."_

"_Are you sure that's safe?"_

"_Not really, but it's a lot quicker than you wandering around in the fog trying to find me._"

"_Okay. We're in front of some building with a clock tower on it. On campus."_

Oliver knew the place. He actually had lectures in that building. _"Okay, sit tight. I'll be there as soon as I can."_

"_Stay safe," _Matt replied before going silent.

Oliver reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. His total was only nine dollars worth of coffee, but he left behind a twenty dollar bill as way of apology for the trouble he caused. He gathered his things and slid out of his seat, casting only a brief glance at the television before leaving the diner completely. Stanford's picture was still being displayed.

Outside it was as if Torrington was completely deserted. There wasn't a single person wandering the streets anymore, which came as no surprise to Oliver. An unexplainable fog, a sudden, fearful storm and a head slicing murderer should be enough to keep most people indoors.

It wasn't too far from the diner to their meeting place, but every step he took was a cautious one. Sylar could be anywhere, just waiting for Oliver to show up.

"_Are you still there?"_ Matt asked.

"_Yeah."_

"_Okay, just checking."_

With no crowds to fight and no traffic to dodge, and thankfully no Sylar to avoid, Oliver made it to the clock tower rather quickly. As he approached he could see Matt and Mohinder squabbling about something. He raised his arm over his head and waved before realizing that they probably couldn't see him through the fog like he saw them. He had to get within a few feet of them before they realized that he was there. Matt was the first to speak.

"Good, you're here. Let's go."

"Matt, be reasonable!" Mohinder pleaded.

"No, we're leaving. Now," Matt said firmly.

"What's going on?" Oliver asked

"Matt wants to leave and I honestly don't know why. There's a ton of stuff here that I need to document. Stuff that will probably benefit you in the long run," Mohinder answered before turning back to Matt. "That's why we came here, Matt! So we could help him understand his power."

"I kind of agree with Matt. I really think we need to leave," Oliver chimed in.

"Oliver, I know this power might be frightening for you, but if you would just give me a chance–"

"It's Sylar," Matt interrupted.

"What?"

"It's all over the news," Oliver supplied, somewhat morosely.

"We didn't get the news this morning. Matt and I got your phone call and left immediately."

"I don't need the news, Mohinder," Matt said tersely. "I picked it up when we got here. Everybody is thinking about the murder." Matt turned to Oliver then, obvious pity written across his features. "I'm sorry about your friend."

Oliver only nodded. He didn't want to think about it. He couldn't think about it right now.

"Murder?" Mohinder repeated. His gaze flicked from Matt to Oliver, then back again. "Why didn't you tell me this?"

"You didn't need to know at the time. But now that you do you know why we need to leave."

"If you could just give me an hour..."

"An hour might be too much time!" Matt hissed.

"Matt, the chances that Sylar would just randomly bump into us in this fog are slim to none. Oliver has an extraordinary power and I need to figure out how it works."

"You won't be able to figure anything out if he's dead," Matt countered.

Mohinder sighed and conceded. "Fine, we'll leave. But we're wasting an excellent opportunity to study his abilities."

"_Prick,"_ Matt thought aloud. Mohinder's face didn't register insult so Oliver assumed he didn't hear the comment.

With Oliver's guidance, the trio made their way back to a campus parking lot where Mohinder had left his car. Despite their arguments against it, Oliver convinced them to let him drive. He knew the roads and he could see through the fog, meaning they would get out of Torrington a lot faster. Oliver agreed that he would pull over as soon as the fog lifted, if it lifted at all.

As it turned out, the fog simply evaporated almost as soon as they were outside the city limits. Oliver pulled over as promised and Mohinder took the wheel. After they were back on the road, Mohinder looked at Oliver in the rear view mirror.

"Oliver, how did you create that fog?"

Oliver just shrugged.

"What about the storm? Can you tell me about that?"

"Let him rest, Mohinder," Matt said, but not unkindly.

Mohinder fell silent. After a few minutes of quiet travel Oliver's eyelids began to feel heavy. He leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes. He was asleep within moments, but it was far from restful. Images of Sylar flashed through his mind. How he looked as he stood at the end of the darkened hallway. The way he shook with anticipation. That penetrating glare. In the unconscious part of his mind, Oliver was registering the conversation Matt and Mohinder were having in the front seats.

"Matt, it's just not possible."

"So what, we just dump him in New York and say 'Have a nice day'?"

"Of course not, but he can't live with us. For one thing, there just isn't enough room."

"I'll sleep on the floor if I have to."

"Why are you so insistent about this?"

"The kid just survived an attempted murder and lost his best friend," Matt replied with a sigh. "I'm not saying that it will be permanent. Just until he can get his bearings."

Oliver's mind tuned out at that point. His dreams weren't so haunted after that. Stanford was there, but he was alive. And he was happy. Happier than Oliver had ever seen him, with a beer in one hand and a visor in the other.

He wasn't sure how long he was asleep for, but after a while he could hear Matt's voice in his head. It was soft, almost a whisper, as if he didn't want to wake him up.

"_Welcome to New York."_


	5. The Company

**The Calm Before by Mallinder**

**Summary:** Oliver learns that Sylar isn't the only threat that he needs to be worrying about.

**Rating:** PG-13, course language

**Disclaimer:** Any characters you recognize from 'Heroes' are clearly from 'Heroes' and don't belong to me. Everything else is mine mine mine!

**Notes:** This chapter is kind of heavy in dialogue so watch out! Any comments or constructive criticism are encouraged and highly appreciated. Enjoy(I hope)!

P.S. I am looking for a partner in crime. Anybody who is interested in receiving an advanced copy of each chapter in order to check for plot holes, grammar etc. please contact me. As the writer, sometimes I forget that readers aren't privy to all the information that's floating around in my head, so it would be nice to have an outside opinion of the chapters before I publish them.

**Chapter 5 - The Company**

"Who's that?" The voice was soft, curious and sounded like it was a world away.

"He's a guest in our home. He's very tired, so we have to be quiet while he sleeps."

"Is he the one you had to go meet?"

"Yes, he is."

"Did the boogeyman try to hurt him?"

"Yes."

"Oh." There was a pause. "Where's Matt?"

"You know where he is."

"With the blonde girl again?"

"Yes."

"She's weird."

Silence took over then as blessed sleep resumed.

* * *

**Matt Parkman, Helena, Montana.**

Matt was always disturbed by her eyes. They were once beautiful, vibrant and full of life. Now they were dull and misguided, the soul that they once possessed had vanished. Every other part of her body hid the trauma she had been put through, but her eyes held the truth. Claire Bennet was gone, replaced by a catatonic copy of who she used to be. She wasn't alive anymore. Not really. She had grown unhealthily thin and her hair was beginning to grow back from its shaved state.

Delving into her mind was puzzling, disorientating and sometimes dangerous. She had bouts where she would lash back, threatening to pull him into her infinite confusion. She wasn't lashing back today, though. She was resisting. Every time he explored her mind she had to relive those terrible events. He hated putting her through it, but it was necessary.

Matt was forced to admit defeat. "I can't get anything. She's blocking me."

"Try harder."

"It won't work. She really doesn't want me in there today."

"It doesn't matter what she wants anymore. We need that information."

"I know, Nathan, but she won't give it up. Not today."

Nathan Petrelli had taken custody of Claire after her adoptive father had been murdered. Bennet was a riddle wrapped in an enigma to say the least, but his love for his adopted daughter was obvious. He had died doing the thing he did best; protecting her. It had taken some effort, but Matt had managed to convince her mother, Sandra, that Claire would be given the care and protection that she simply couldn't provide. The days that Sandra visited were the easiest for Matt to pull information from Claire. When she was near Claire seemed to relax and lower her defenses. But Sandra wasn't here today and Claire wasn't cooperating.

"We need that information, Matt," Nathan said, ever practical.

Matt shook his head. His power was far greater than any resistance Claire might put up, but he refused to push when she resisted this much. They needed the information but he didn't want to torture the poor girl in order to get it.

Nathan sighed and pursed his lips, displeased. "You're too soft, Parkman. When will you be back to try again?"

Matt shrugged. "I don't know. Another week, maybe two."

"Fine. But we need results, Matt. I know you don't like it, but if she keeps on resisting like this than you need to force your way in."

* * *

**Oliver Gordon, Mohinder Suresh & Molly Walker, New York, New York.**

Oliver cracked an eye open and shut it immediately. There was soft light streaming in behind the curtained windows, but to him it felt like somebody had shoved a flashlight in his face. How long had he been here? More importantly, where was here? Images of the past few days began creeping in hesitantly, as if too much at one time would overload his brain. Mohinder, Matt, Stanford, Sylar, the fog. They all came trickling back to him as he lay in bed. What happened after they had escaped Torrington was somewhat unclear. He could only remember patches. Matt and Mohinder had bickered a few times, mostly about him. When they had arrived in New York Matt had to leave so Mohinder had taken him to their apartment. After that he had slept.

Oliver sat up slowly and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He rubbed circles around his eyes with the base of his palms, trying to vanquish the remaining vestiges of sleep. When he opened his eyes he realized that he had gone through a wardrobe change. Pajamas, Matt's he assumed, since they were two sizes too big, and bare feet. He couldn't remember changing into them but that hardly mattered. He looked over at the clock. Four in the afternoon. He should probably let Mohinder know that he was awake. He padded over to the bedroom door and opened it rather tentatively. He barely knew these people and he had just spent a night in one of their beds, wearing their pajamas in their apartment. It was an awkward situation, to say the least.

Mohinder was sitting at a small kitchen table, peering into his laptop, a cup of steaming tea in his hand. Beside him, Matt had been replaced by a young girl who was looking down at a sheet of paper with frustration.

"Mohinder, what's smaller? A microgram or a nanogram?"

"Nanogram," he replied instantly. He lifted his head from his laptop to look at her sheet and spotted Oliver standing at the threshold of the bedroom. "You're awake."

"Seems that way."

The girl looked up from her paper and chirped "Good morning! Or afternoon, really."

Oliver forced a grin. He certainly wasn't in the mood for banter, but he didn't want to offend or upset the little girl. When she smiled back Oliver had flashback to one of his meetings with Mohinder and Matt. This was the same girl he saw in one of the pictures of Sylar's victims.

"How are you feeling?" Mohinder asked, sliding out of his seat and approaching Oliver.

Oliver shrugged. "Better. How long was I asleep for?"

"The better part of two days."

"Two days?"

Mohinder nodded. "Yes. You had an exhausting day. I expect that keeping up a constant fog and deactivating a threatening storm must have taken its toll as well."

"Excuse me!"

They both looked over to the table where the little girl was sitting. She stood up and gingerly made her way over to them.

"Aren't you going to introduce me?" she scolded, placing her hands on her hips in mock anger.

Mohinder smiled patiently. "Of course. You have my apologies."

Oliver crouched down to her level and offered her his hand, a mockery of the formal gesture. "I'm Oliver Gordon. Pleased to meet you."

Molly gripped his hand enthusiastically and gave it a few hard shakes. "I'm Molly. I don't know what my last name is anymore, but I'm pleased to meet you too!"

Oliver smiled, genuinely this time, and stood back up. "Where's Matt? I think I owe him his pajamas back."

"He's with the weird blonde girl," Molly said.

"Aren'tyou the weird blonde girl?" Oliver replied playfully.

Molly pulled a face. "I'm not weird! And I'm not blonde, either!"

"My mistake."

"Molly, why don't you go and finish your homework. I need to have a word with Oliver."

Molly briskly nodded and skipped back to her chair. Oliver envied her attitude. Sylar had murdered her parents and tried to kill her yet she still managed to remain perky and optimistic. He turned back to Mohinder.

"So, where's Matt? With some weird blonde chick?"

"Her name is Claire Bennet. She's not weird, she's catatonic." Mohinder paused. He needed to start from the beginning if Oliver was going to understand any of it. "Listen, there is a lot more to these powers that I haven't yet explained to you. There is a group of people out there, a company," Mohinder paused again, tilting his head slightly. He knew he must not be making much sense. Maybe a change in surroundings would help him sort his thoughts. He turned to Molly. "Molly, how would you like to go to the park?"

"What about my homework?"

"Forget about that for now. You can do it later."

"Cool!"

Mohinder turned back to Oliver. "Get dressed. I'll explain it all on the way."

"Explain what?"

"That Sylar isn't the only thing you need to be worrying about."

* * *

**Nathan Petrelli & Claire Bennet, Helena, Montana.**

Nathan leaned back against the wall and pursed his lips. Claire was lying on the bed in front of him, her eyes unseeing, her face expressionless. He didn't love her. Not like a father should, anyways. She was still a stranger to him. He had met her for the first time about five months ago and three of those months she had been gone, stolen by The Company. But now they were in Montana. They were safe, off The Company's radar, at least for now. The house that they were in acted as a headquarters of sorts for their resistance group. The Company had been nothing more than a vague threat in the past, but now the danger was imminent and very real. Poor Claire had been one of the first to fall victim.

Nathan stepped softly over to the bed and peered down at her with a mix of pity and disdain. He had never been particularly adept at the whole parenting thing. His boys were growing up to be fine young gentlemen, but that was mostly due to Heidi. He was always too caught up in his own world and aspirations to provide anything more than a pat on the back and a vacation or two. Now that he was alone with this comatose daughter he felt comfortable giving true fatherhood a shot. Nobody was around so nobody would see if he failed. He gently sat down on the bed. Claire turned to look at him, but he knew that it wasn't him she was seeing. She lived in her own private hell now. Reality had been brutally ripped away from her.

How would a good parent act in this situation? He didn't know. He never had any good examples himself. He placed a hand gently on her shoulder and stroked it with his thumb. This wasn't so bad. But it wasn't enough and he knew it. Pats on the shoulder did not make him a good father. Just then he noticed something about Claire, something different. Her eyes were focused and direct. Had she finally regained herself? As she stared at him, her face grew twisted with anger, fear and despair. Her brows furrowed and her lips began to quiver.

"Get away from me.." she whispered, gripping Nathan's wrist with her hand.

"Claire?"

"Get away..." Her hands began to shake and tears dripped from the corner of her eyes. Her grip tightened suddenly, her nails digging in to Nathan's skin. Her lips curled back from her teeth, as if she was snarling at him. "Get away! Get away! Get away!" she began screaming, banging her head against the pillow.

"Claire! Claire, calm down. You're safe here."

"Leave me alone! I don't want to go with you! _Get away from me, please!"_ She was in hysterics, tears streaming down her face, her chest heaving.

Nathan could hear footsteps racing up the stairs. The door flew open and Niki came racing over to the bed. Nathan wasn't sure how she did it, but Niki always found a way to calm Claire down when she was having an episode.

"Claire," she said firmly, but with a motherly tone. "Claire, sweetheart, you're okay. You're okay, nobody here is going to hurt you, you understand?" Niki stoked the side of Claire's face gently as she spoke. The effect was almost immediate. Claire turned away from Nathan and looked at Niki. She tilted her head slightly back and her eyes drifted out of focus. Her chest settled into a steady breathing and her grip on Nathan's wrist loosened. He slipped it from her hand and rubbed the spots where her nails had pierced the skin.

She was a stranger to him. An illegitimate child with a woman he no longer made contact with. But The Company had another thing coming if they thought he wouldn't make them pay for what they did to his daughter.

* * *

**Oliver Gordon, Mohinder Suresh & Molly Walker, Central Park, New York**

Oliver watched Molly as she quietly approached a squirrel, a peanut held out at arms length. What he wouldn't give to be ten years old again. He missed the ignorance and perpetual happiness of being young. But ignorance wouldn't serve him anymore. Ignorance would get him killed.

He and Mohinder had taken a seat on a bench just off the path. Mohinder insisted that they had to be relatively alone before they spoke of the matter at hand. Once their area of the park had cleared out, save for a few squirrels and ducks, Oliver turned to Mohinder.

"So, who else is trying to kill me that I don't know about?"

Mohinder looked back at Oliver with a certain distaste. "I know all of this information has come as a shock but that attitude isn't helping."

"You try losing your best friend to a brain stealing whacko and see how you feel," Oliver shot back.

"I lost my _father_ to Sylar," Mohinder seethed.

Oliver looked away, suddenly ashamed. Of course he wasn't the only victim. "Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"That's right, you didn't know. I would appreciate it if you wouldn't make assumptions like that. Everybody I know who is involved in all this has lost somebody."

Oliver said nothing, giving a silent apology.

Mohinder sighed before continuing. "I would hate to lose another friend, so please pay attention."

Oliver nodded, a ghost of a smile on his lips. It was nice to know that somebody cared, even if he had only met that person twice.

Mohinder took a moment to gather his thoughts. "There is a group of people out there, we call them The Company, who are a danger to people like you. Actually, they are a danger to us all." He paused and pulled a face. He was being awfully vague. "Maybe I should start at the beginning. Many years ago a group of people who knew of individuals with special abilities formed. At first this group was fearful of people with powers. They wanted to eliminate them, destroy them so these people would not become a danger to society. However, they soon learned that these abilities are simply the next step in the evolution of the human race and couldn't be destroyed, lest they stop evolution itself. So they changed their tactics. Rather than finding and killing these people, The Company opted for a humane way of dealing with the problem. They found these evolved humans and tagged them for monitoring. They kept track of their powers and watched them develop."

"That doesn't sound too bad."

"It wasn't at first. They were simply ensuring that these people with abilities did not abuse them or use them for personal gain in illegal ways. If somebody was clairvoyant and only used the ability to find lost car keys The Company would leave them alone entirely. If, however, these powers posed a threat, The Company would step in. Like you, for example. If they knew about your ability five years ago they probably would have made contact with you. If it turned out somebody's power was completely uncontrollable and could harm or kill people, they would take steps to ensure that didn't happen."

"What kind of steps?"

"Usually isolation. They would send that person to a remote area. They would ensure that the person had the means to survive, but contact with other people would be limited. It was for the greater good, as they saw it."

"I still don't see the problem," Oliver admitted. "It sounds to me like they are doing the world some good. I mean, if it turns out I can make violent storms and not control them I wouldn't want to be around people, either."

Mohinder nodded briskly. "In the beginning they were noble. They truly wanted to help the natural evolution of humanity along with minimal risk to the general population. Things soon went awry, I'm afraid. As the first generation of The Company aged and retired, a new generation took charge. There were a few, subtle changes when this happened. Instead of approaching evolved individuals with the adequate information, they began abducting people against their will. They wouldn't hurt them in any way, but it was still unethical. Soon, instead of simply isolating dangerous individuals, they took more drastic measures."

"What do you mean?"

"They began eliminating people, murdering them 'for the greater good'. Someone like you might not have been given the chance to learn how to control your powers. You would have been considered too great a risk a keep alive."

"Are they still like this?"

"They are. They've also grown a lot more liberal in their definition of dangerous powers. More and more people with seemingly harmless abilities were being killed off by The Company. The clairvoyants, the telepaths, they would be relatively safe. Anything more threatening than that and The Company would step in. But that's still not the worst of it."

"What could possibly be worse than genocide?" Oliver asked, much too loudly.

"There are things worse than death, Oliver. It happened to a friend of mine. Claire, the girl I mentioned before. She would be better off dead, but unfortunately she can't die." Mohinder could see the next question forming on Oliver's lips so he quickly continued. "The Company isn't in the business of protecting the general population anymore. They are in the business of evolving it. At some point in time they thought it would be wise to speed evolution along, to give everybody these powers. They have failed to realize that evolution simply cannot be accelerated. There are reasons why evolution is an excruciatingly long process. It takes millions and millions of years for mother nature to sort through all the genetic anomalies that occur in a species and decide which ones are fit to keep and which ones should be eliminated. If we rush evolution than we risk holding onto certain aspects that could be potentially deadly to the entire human race!"

"But how are they doing that? How can they possibly speed evolution along? More importantly, why would they want to do that?"

Mohinder shrugged. "I don't know. Jealousy perhaps. Maybe they truly believe they are doing the right thing. In any case, they haven't figured out a way to duplicate and pass along the special traits that people have. But that certainly isn't for lack of trying."

"Is that what happened to Claire?"

Mohinder nodded. "Yes. Claire's father worked for The Company and tried to keep her a secret. But they found out about her. They killed her father and took her into custody. What they did to her is just horrific."

"What did they do to her?"

"Claire can regenerate," Mohinder replied, giving the following information some context. "If she cuts herself it will heal in a moment or two. She could break her leg and be walking again in a few minutes. They knew this, so they wanted to test her limits. They started small. A papercut here, a small burn there. But then they began to get violent. Her files show that the began to shoot her. In the leg, in the arm, in the chest. Over and over again, every day. She kept healing, so they kept testing her. The poured pots of boiling water over her body and examined how long it would take for the burns to heal. They tested to see if corrosive materials could cause lasting damage. They threw her down flights of stairs, crushed her limbs and hit her with cars. They injected her with enough cyanide to kill twenty grown men, they stabbed her with swords and they set her on fire. Then it got really bad."

Oliver worked diligently to repress whatever anger that was brewing inside of him. It was terrible, but he couldn't afford to take any chances with his emotions. Still, he was curious. "What to you mean 'then it got really bad'. I can't think of anything worse."

"Amputation," Mohinder said simply. "They began to remove entire limbs from her body and see how long it would take for them to grow back. Her files show that she has gone through four left arms and three right. Her feet have been removed several times. But those are just external. They started to go inside, too–"

Oliver held up his hand and shook his head. "Okay, that's enough. I get the picture."

Mohinder looked sadly over at Molly who was still playing with the squirrels. "Her body healed every time. Her body could take it. Her mind couldn't. Every time they shot her, or threw her down the stairs, she felt it. She isn't immune to pain, you know. I imagine the feeling of being burned alive would leave a mental scar that nobody could undo."

They both fell silent at that point, losing themselves in their own thoughts. Mohinder watched as Molly chased a squirrel around the base of a tree, nostalgic for the time when he was nothing more than a simple professor. His world had been flipped upside down and although he loved Molly and had made some loyal friends, he sometimes wished that he could take it all away and live in ignorance.

"How did she get out?" Oliver asked, disrupting Mohinder's thoughts.

"What?"

"Claire. You said earlier that Matt was with her. I'm assuming he didn't barge in to The Company headquarters to have a pow-wow with her. So how did she escape?"

Mohinder considered before responding. Oliver was still a relative stranger so he didn't know if he could trust him or not. But he seemed like a good kid. Maybe in time he would even join their resistance force. "There is a resistance group," Mohinder started tentatively. "There are very few people outside of The Company who actually know what they are doing. Most of these people have abilities or have a loved one who has abilities. We formed a group to try and take The Company down, for obvious reasons. When we found out that Claire had been captured and what kind of tests they were administering to her, we took action and we broke her out. It was extremely dangerous and a somewhat foolish thing to do. Before Claire's escape I was confident that The Company wasn't aware of our group. But we exposed ourselves and now they must know we exist."

Oliver mulled over what he had just been told. A company that finds and kills most people with dangerous abilities, and tortures and tests the ones who aren't. A resistance group dedicated to bringing The Company down, destroying it and letting evolution take its natural course. Christ. Jackass professors and late essays seemed like a blessing now. But Jackass professors and late essays weren't his reality anymore. Brain stealing maniacs and people killing companies were. Oliver considered the obvious choice that lay before him. Would he join this resistance force and assist them in taking down The Company, or would he try and regain a sense of normalcy and pretend this past week never happened. He had never considered himself to be particularly brave, nor did he believe that he was put on this planet to do something great. But just because he didn't believe it didn't make it true. Maybe he was meant for something more. Maybe he was meant to join these people, to become a hero of sorts. He was certain that it would be dangerous, and he wasn't entirely sure he was ready for such a responsibility, but he decided to take the plunge anyways.

"So, how do I join?"


	6. Six Months

**The Calm Before by Mallinder**

**Summary:**Six months have passed since Oliver first learned of his powers and he has developed a few new tricks.

**Rating:**PG-13, course language, sexual content.

**Disclaimer:**Any characters you recognize from 'Heroes' are clearly from 'Heroes' and don't belong to me. Everything else is mine mine mine!

**Notes:** This chapter is basically me trying to develop the characters a little bit. Suspense, horror, intrigue and all that jazz will come soon. I'm trying to find a balance between moving the story along and developing the characters. Any comments or constructive criticism are encouraged and highly appreciated. Enjoy(I hope)!

P.S. Damn! I didn't realize how long this was until I was done.

P.P.S. The end of the semester is coming up for me and I have assignments coming out of my ears. This story might go on a short hiatus until mid-December. My apologies!

**Chapter 6 - Six Months**

**May**

**Oliver Gordon & Mohinder Suresh, outside of New York, New York.**

"What about now?"

Mohinder shook his head impatiently. "Still nothing. How did you create the fog in Torrington?"

Oliver sighed and pulled an annoyed face and had to resist the urge to stomp is foot in frustration. He figured it would be a lot easier than this. "I don't know. It just kind of.. happened."

"What were you feeling at the time? Angry? Happy? Were you feeling any sort of intense emotion?"

"Well, I was just attacked by a man who wanted to chop off my head and eat my brain. I was scared shitless."

Mohinder pursed his lips as he considered this last point. It was a look Oliver had grown used to over the past few weeks. He always seemed to come up with some sort of theory after such a consideration. Mohinder didn't disappoint. "I have a theory about that."

"Of course you do," Oliver replied with a quick grin and a brisk nod.

Mohinder smirked. He knew that he had enough theories to fill a swimming pool. "I think that the unconscious part of your mind recognized that you needed some sort of protection from Sylar, a place to hide, and acted accordingly."

Oliver shrugged nonchalantly. He supposed it was possible. He supposed anything was possible nowadays. Here he was, standing in the middle of a corn field in the boonies of New York City with a genetics professor from India trying to create a thick fog using only his mind. It was ridiculous, but it was also true.

He had become the focus of Mohinder's research as of late, so these trips out to the boonies were becoming more and more frequent. Even though they had yielded little results (he _had_ managed to kick up a spot of rain on an otherwise sunny day), Mohinder remained eternally optimistic, if sometimes impatient. Oliver wasn't so hopeful. He had never been anything more than distinctly average. Nondescript brown hair, plain brown eyes. He had an average build, his grades were usually right in the middle of the class. He'd grown so used to being average, of being 'that guy', that being told he was something more made him acutely uncomfortable. Maybe that's why these little sessions weren't working as well as Mohinder had hoped.

Oliver had tried different methods to try and coax the weather to follow his will and felt equally dorky for each failed attempt. He tried verbal commands, shouting out 'rain!', 'snow!' and 'clouds!'. Nothing had happened. He had tried issuing mental commands. Nothing. He even tried pointing at the sky or lifting his palms. This technique succeeded only in the fact that he was so embarrassed that two or three grey clouds formed quickly overhead.

Mohinder, possibly reading the uncomfortable look that had grown on Oliver's face, closed his file and put his pen back into his coat pocket. "We can head home now, if you'd like. I think we've been at this long enough." Mohinder turned and followed the muddy path they had trodden back to his car. Oliver followed, running a few steps to catch up.

"Sorry I couldn't do it," he apologized, scratching the back of his head and casting his gaze to the muddy path. He was struggling between his desire to remain a normal twentysomething and his desire to find some sort of purpose in his life. He often felt like he was doing nothing more than simply gliding through a prescribed, pre-lived existence and it frustrated him. However, he had never been entirely comfortable with being is own person, either. Being your own person meant being comfortable with the criticisms and judgements of your character. It was a battle he had fought often within himself. The desire for a normal, judgement free life almost always won out over being who he was truly destined to be.

"These things take time, Oliver. Don't get discouraged. Do you remember what Matt said to you when you first met?"

He did. Matt had said that his ability had started out as nothing more then a white noise with a few random thoughts popping in. Then he learned how to control it and use it to his advantage. But it was different than his ability. Where Matt just pulled information from somebody's head, Oliver had to create something which was, more often than not, extremely complex. He said as much to Mohinder.

"It is true that there are different categories of abilities. Matt's ability falls under the 'Mental Ability' category, while the powers of that woman I told you about, Niki, fall under the 'Physical' category. I suppose yours falls under 'Manipulation', although I can't really be certain at this point," Mohinder replied, going off on somewhat of a tangent. "However, almost all of the people I have interviewed have said the same thing about their powers; they had to grow into them. They didn't just appear one day fully functional. A young woman, Bridget, said it was like trying to walk for the first time. Your legs have always been there, but you only stood on them when you were ready."

Oliver mulled over this last bit of information as they climbed inside of Mohinder's car. Maybe it was time to finally accept what he was, who he was. Maybe evolution choosing him to have this power wasn't just a fluke. Maybe it was destiny. Maybe being less than normal wouldn't be so bad after all. Maybe it was time for him to try out those legs of his.

* * *

**June**

**Oliver Gordon, New York, New York**.

The original plan was to allow Oliver to stay with Matt and Mohinder until he could familiarize himself with New York. After that, he was to move out on his own, but stay in contact. After spending nearly two months with them, Oliver had learned that any plans they made had a tendency to change.

The three adults had grown rather close in the previous weeks, and grew even more so after Oliver had made the conscious decision to stop hiding in his veil of normalcy and embrace his true character. 'Embracing his new character' was a bit of a stretch, if he was honest with himself. He still didn't know exactly what his 'true character' was, but he was slowly beginning to piece it together. One of the more pleasant pieces he had found a place for was in his dealings with kids. As a twentysomething university student, the veil of normalcy dictated that all children should be treated at worst with scorn and at best with a polite smile or patronizing greeting. Life with Molly had shattered that facade entirely. He didn't know what it was about her, but she had somehow taken a firm grip of his heart and squeezed it every so often. He was hesitant to say that he loved her, but he certainly had developed a vested interest in her well being. Molly had also grown attached to Oliver, and it was Molly who had changed the original plan of his departure.

They had been cramped around the small dinner table in the apartment one evening when Molly made an astute observation. "This apartment is too small for all four of us to live in, you know."

Oliver had expected either Matt or Mohinder to gently let her know that his welcome was almost over and that he would be leaving soon. Much to his delight, however, Matt had rather sheepishly admitted that he had been looking around at different apartments that could house the four of them. in doing so, Matt had indirectly offered Oliver a permanent residence within their little family. Oliver's indirect acceptance was made by way of a wry smile and a wiggle of his eyebrows.

After about a week or so of searching, they had all come to the conclusion that living apartment style wasn't going to fly anymore. They began looking at different options and eventually settled for a less-than-fancy but functional townhouse that would offer them each their own separate bedrooms and enough space for the four of them to live comfortably. They began to pack immediately. Oliver and Matt only needed a few boxes between them, but Molly and Mohinder were much more high maintenance. They had boxes scattered around the apartment, some with labels, most without.

Oliver was alone in the apartment, sifting through the chaos, trying to find Molly's lost watch, when there was a knock on the door. He gingerly stepped around the mess of boxes until he made it to the door. Both Matt and Mohinder had repeatedly warned him to look through the peephole to make sure it was somebody they knew and trusted, but he had never gotten used to this extra precaution. Besides, if it turned out to be Sylar he was sure a simple door wouldn't protect him. He gripped the doorknob and gave it a little jerk before swinging it open.

A woman wearing a crisp looking suit stood in the hallway. Her no-nonsense face looked a little disturbed, confused.

"I'm sorry.. do you live here?" she asked, peeking around Oliver and observing the empty walls and cluttered floors.

"Yeah. Well, not for long, actually," he replied with a chuckle and a grin.

The woman simply looked at him quizzically. An awkward silence followed as she peered over his shoulder into the apartment again. It seemed like she was looking for something, or perhaps someone. She looked back to Oliver.

"What did you say your name was again?"

"I didn't, but it's Oliver."

Her face perked up considerably at the mention of his name as if it was some sort of revelation. As it turned out, it was. "Oh! Oliver, of course! Matt's told me a lot about you." She reached out her arm and offered her hand. "I'm Audrey Hanson - Matt's partner."

Oliver shook her hand and chose to interpret the term 'partner' in a way that would certainly embarrass Matt. He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe and didn't bother to subdue the smarmy look that crossed his features. "Partner, eh? Matt never mentioned having a work partner to us."

Audrey's face immediately sobered and a touch of red appeared on her cheeks. "Yes, well.. the cases we work on together are extremely confidential."

Oliver's smirk only grew as she fumbled out the excuse. He opened his mouth to reply but was rudely interrupted by the phone ringing behind him. He quickly invited her to come in before hopscotching around the boxes to the phone - or at least, where the phone used to be.

"It's over here," Audrey said, picking the entire unit off of the floor and handing it across the boxes to Oliver.

Oliver nodded his thanks and lifted the receiver. "Hello?"

"Hey, Oliver. It's Matt. Listen, I'm going to be late coming home today. Do you think you could pick up Molly from school?"

"Sure. Working late with your partner tonight or something?" He cast a quick glance over at Audrey who looked back with part amusement, part scorn.

"What? I don't have a partner."

"You don't? Well, somebody showed up a few minutes ago saying that they were your partner."

Matt's tone over the phone changed immediately. It was a tone that he had come to know fairly well by now. Matt was constantly worried about everybody's safety and often assumed generally innocent gestures from strangers as threatening or suspicious. To him, everybody was a suspect and nobody was to be trusted entirely. "You need to leave. Now. I don't have a partner. Make up some excuse to get out of there," Matt fiercely whispered into the phone. Oliver loved Matt dearly as a friend, but he was so easy to tease sometimes.

"Oh, I don't know. Audrey seems kind of cool."

"Audrey?" There was a long pause on the other line of the phone. "Tell her," Matt started. "Tell her I'll see her at work.. tomorrow."

"Can do. I'll see you when you get home then."

"...yeah. Okay. Bye." The phone went dead after that so Oliver had to imagine the string of cusses that were surely being said by Matt. He turned back to Audrey, who was trying to hide the smile that was blooming on her pursed lips. She studied him carefully for a few moments, judging what her response should be.

"He's so easy to tease, isn't he?" she finally said, choosing to admit to the truth of the matter, rather than denying the obvious.

* * *

**July**

**Oliver Gordon & Molly Walker, New York, New York.**

"I hate this game." Oliver said with good nature as he wiggled himself out from under the sink of their new home. Molly stood triumphantly outside with a smug smile on her face. She always won this game.

"You just stink at hiding!"

"You cheat!"

"No, it's just a natural talent! You wouldn't think a baseball player is cheating because he is athletic, would you?"

"You got that from Matt, didn't you." It was a statement, not a question.

Molly stuck out her tongue and shrugged, turning around and exiting the bathroom.

"Rascal," he muttered, following her out into the kitchen.

They had successfully completed the move out of Mohinder's old apartment and were all settling in rather well. Molly had already made friends with some of the neighbors, but then again she always seemed to make friends quickly.

Since their move, Oliver had secured himself a part-time job painting the exteriors of homes to help with his portion of the rent. It wasn't something that he particularly enjoyed or got any sort of fulfillment out of, but he had to pay his part of the rent somehow. Since his work was done strictly outside, he had ample opportunity to fiddle around with what he could do. He was able to conjure up a few rain clouds pretty consistently now, but always cast them away before they could ruin his hard work. His training sessions with Mohinder were growing fewer and farther between. In fact, both Mohinder and Matt were almost never home anymore. Matt had pulled a difficult case at work and spent most of the day at the station. Once Mohinder had grown to trust Oliver with Molly's safety, he set out across the country to catch up on his research. When he wasn't locked away in his new office in the basement, he was across the country studying somebody else with abilities.

With both Matt and Mohinder being sucked away into work, most of Molly's care taking had fallen to Oliver. Not that he minded. He rather enjoyed it, actually. Molly always seemed to make a bad day good, a good day great, and a great day blissful. He had gone frog hunting with her by a nearby pond, had consistent pillow fights with her, and had mended her broken heart after her two day relationship with Max Grossman had ended.

He leaned against the kitchen door frame and looked at her softly as she struggled to open a jar of peanut butter. She was bringing out a new sensation in him, something that warmed his heart completely. Maybe it was some sort of paternal instinct that was emerging within him, but he couldn't be sure. He didn't really care, either. He just knew he liked the feeling.

* * *

**Nathan Petrelli & Claire Bennet, Helena, Montana.**

Nothing had improved. He had spent night after night in this bedroom, watching her. She barely moved anymore. She just stared at the ceiling, refusing to exist in the conscious realm. Sometimes he could even see the horror playing in her eyes. He still felt nothing. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He was filled with a fierce anger that any human being should have to experience what she went through. But he still didn't feel like a father should feel. Maybe that is because he has taught himself not to feel. His job as a district attorney mandated that he prosecute alleged criminals, regardless of his personal opinions of their innocence. He had been good at his job - perhaps too good. He had put a lot of innocent people away and he knew it. Their lives hadn't mattered at the time, only his own prestige. Things have changed since then. For the first time in his life, his personal priorities were put on the back burner in favour of a greater cause. But the effect had lasted. He still couldn't feel.

It didn't help that he has been living in the resistance headquarters with a woman whose parenting skills were phenomenal. Even though their mission was dangerous, Niki had been forced to bring Micah along with her to Montana. Nathan had watched her with him with a certain envy. She was always so concerned about his well being, always putting him first, always keeping him safe. Even when he knew she was having a bad day, she always seemed to have the right attitude when her son was around. She had even taken a vested interest in the well being of Claire. When she was having one of her episodes, Niki sat by her bed and soothed her to calmness. Nathan usually left the room when Claire grew upset. His mental beatdown of himself was interrupted by the sound of the bedroom door opening. Niki poked her head in and motioned for Nathan to come out into the hallway. He did so immediately.

"I think we might have a problem," Niki said quickly.

Nathan remained silent, waiting for Niki to continue.

"Our contact is saying that The Company might have found out about Matt, Mohinder and Molly. She said that she found a dossier with their information in it. Their current information. It said that they moved out of Mohinder's dingy apartment and into a new place. _I_ didn't even know that they moved!"

"Was there anything else?"

"Yes, a couple things. They know that both Matt and Molly have an ability and that Mohinder has a vested interest in those with abilities. It also said that they have a new roommate, but it didn't give a name." She paused and waited for an answer. When she didn't get it she was forced to ask for one. "What do we do?"

Nathan considered for only a brief moment before responding. "Nothing. We do absolutely nothing."

Niki's eyes widened considerably. "What do you mean 'we do absolutely nothing'? We have to warn them."

Nathan shook his head. "We can't. If we warn them, then they will react. If they react then The Company will know that we knew. If they know that we knew, then they will figure out that we have a contact inside their system. We can't take the risk of them finding out and increasing security around their files."

"You can't be serious! They could be in real danger!"

"My guess is that The Company has known about them for a while now. If they haven't acted on that knowledge yet I have no reason to believe that they will soon." Niki opened her mouth to protest but Nathan had already raised his hand to silence her. "Look, I know your concerns. I share them. But you all elected me as the head of this resistance for a reason. I can make these kinds of decisions. I've been making them all my life. They will be looked after. Trust me."

"How do you know that they'll be looked after?"

Nathan fixed Niki with a stare that silenced any further questioning. "Trust me."

* * *

**August**

**Matt Parkman & Oliver Gordon, New York, New York.**

Matt flicked off the light and softly closed the door to Molly's room. He had let her stay up way too late. He, Molly and Oliver had been playing a massive game of Candyland and had totally lost track of the time. As soon as the game was over he had ushered Molly off to bed, despite her protests of not being tired. But now she was in bed, asleep almost as soon as her head had hit the pillow, and he was left alone with Oliver.

Something about Oliver's thoughts had disturbed him over the past few months, but he had never worked up the courage to confront him about it. He wouldn't even know what to say if he did. But he had to do something. It was his duty to protect his friends and family, from whatever monsters may haunt them. Oliver's monster just happened to be within himself. As he looked over at Oliver, who was catching up on reading the newspaper, Matt's resolve to put the matter to rest solidified. He walked over and plunked himself across from Oliver and took the plunge.

"We need to talk," he said immediately, leaving himself no room to reconsider.

Oliver peered over the top of the newspaper and swallowed the piece of toast he was chewing. "Sure, about what?"

Matt paused. Perhaps he should have prepared himself a little more. He was at a total loss of what to say. Comforting Molly was no problem, it had come instinctually. But trying to comfort a grown adult who tried to hide the fact that he needed comforting was something Matt was new to. He took a calming breath before continuing. "You didn't kill him, you know."

Oliver's face registered confused amusement. "What?"

There was no turning back now. He had to push on. "Stanford. You didn't kill him."

Oliver's amused look faded and sobered until it was an offended frown. He looked across at Matt and studied his face for a few moments before dropping his gaze back down to the newspaper. "Have you been reading my mind?"

Shit. He was offended. He shouldn't have brought up the subject. It was obviously a painful one to Oliver and Matt was in over his head. At a loss of what to say, Matt could only repeat himself; "You didn't kill him."

"Stay out of my head, Matt."

"Sylar killed Stanford. You didn't."

"I as good as killed him," Oliver muttered. He cast a glance at his toast and pushed it away. He had suddenly lost his appetite

"How do you figure?"

"I told him where to find Stanford."

Matt shook his head forcefully. He had read the police report of the murder. A witness from Oliver's floor had told police that Oliver had told Sylar to look on the seventh floor of the residence, not the library where Stanford's body was found. He repeated as much to Oliver.

"It doesn't matter. Stanford's gone now, because of me. Because I have this stupid ability my best friend had to die," Oliver said, his tone laced with bitterness.

Matt didn't know what to say. He wasn't trained to deal with the emotions of the families of murdered victims, just how to extract information. "I just want to help," he offered lamely.

"If I wanted your help I would have asked for it."

"You did...sort of. In your mind."

"Fine," Oliver cut in tersely. "I just don't want help from you." He had the grace to colour slightly at his rudeness. He was being unfair. He let out a brief sigh before going on. "Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do and it's nice that you want to help me, but I can take care of myself. I know that Stanford is dead because of me, even if I didn't lead Sylar directly to him. If I didn't have this ability, if I couldn't do what I can do, then Sylar wouldn't have come to Torrington and Stanford would still be alive. It's just the way it is, and I'm coming to terms with that in my own way."

Matt conceded. Oliver was right. He was an adult and could figure things out on his own. If he wanted help or comforting he would ask for it. Matt was stupid for bringing the subject up at all. "Just... don't do anything rash then, okay?"

"Like what, swear revenge?" Oliver replied, standing up from the table. He grabbed his plate and dumped his half eaten toast into the garbage. "I won't. That's beyond tacky."

Matt smirked. That's one of the things he liked about Oliver the most. Even in tense or desperate situations he always seemed to slide in a witty remark or a lame joke, just to pick up the spirits of those around him.

"I'm going to go to bed."

"Okay. Goodnight."

Oliver walked towards the stairs and softly made his way up a few steps before pausing. "Matt?"

"Yeah?"

"Stay out of my head."

* * *

**Hana Gitelman**

She was nowhere. She was everywhere. She was where she needed to be, when she needed to be there. Adjusting to her new existence was certainly a chore, but she was managing. It was an odd sensation, being not entirely dead. Her body was gone. She had watched it burn and flake apart in the atmosphere, tumble to Earth, and eventually land somewhere in the Pacific ocean. The moment she died was the moment her powers grew to their full potential. She was no longer limited to manipulating local wireless connections. She was connected to the entire world and everybody in it all at once. She could ride the wireless waves to wherever she wanted to go, wherever she needed to be almost instantly. But the ability to do so begged the question; where did she want to go? Where was she needed? Just because she was dead didn't mean she was useless.

After taking a day or two to settle into her new existence, Hana had begun to search. For what, she didn't know. Her mission to destroy the tracking system was a success so she was left without purpose. For a few months she had done nothing more than disable computer viruses and meddle in the lives of romantic couples. Then she happened to spot something that fanned the fire within her soul. It was from Bennet, the man she used to work for. He was starting a resistance group to bring The Company down. She immediately contacted him, told him of her new existence, and joined the resistance. She had sent out messages to everybody Bennet thought might be interested in becoming part of their little group. Many of them joined their cause. But now Bennet was dead, killed trying to protect his daughter. She had seen it in an e-mail. That was the funny thing about the way she lived now. She didn't have eyes, so she couldn't see anything. She existed only in a world of information. When somebody tried to contact her, she didn't see the e-mail or hear the phone call. She just knew. Like she knew how Nathan Petrelli was elected the new leader of the resistance group.

She had gotten her most recent mission from him. She had pilfered through The Company's files and found one that had extremely recent information about Matt Parkman and his associates. After she relayed the information to Nathan, he had sent her immediately to their residence to keep an eye on them. Mohinder's laptop was alarmingly easy to break into. With some guidance from Bennet, she had learned how to incorporate herself fully into a single computer system, instead of just manipulating its wireless messages.

A new sensation washed over her as she melded with Mohinder's laptop. Never before had she entered a computer that had a webcam attached. She could see again. The resolution wasn't very clear and she was forced to look in one direction only, but to her, it was perfect.

She was under strict orders to do nothing but observe. Usually she would find this restriction irritating, but this regained sense of sight quelled that irritation completely. Observe was what she was supposed to do and observe is what she did for three weeks. There were no signs of danger, from what she could see, and nobody in the household had sent an e-mail or made a phone call expressing concern for their safety. If something were to come up, she was to contact Nathan immediately.

Having watched the family over the past few weeks, Hana had learned some interesting things about them. For starters, she learned that the new roommate's name was Oliver and, if Mohinder's files were to be believed, he had an ability to; to control the weather. Nathan would be interested in that. More than this new man's ability, Hana learned what these people were like when they thought they were alone. Mohinder, she noted, paced. When he was concentrating on a concept or theory really hard he made circles around the room, often times grabbing his chin as he thought. He was addicted to tea and it sometimes seemed like his research took precedence over Molly.

Matt, whom she had known before she had died, still seemed much the same as before. He was still the gentle, well mannered, caring soul that she knew. He was a constant worrier and often scolded the others for not looking through the peephole before opening the front door of their home. One change that she had noticed, however, was his confidence. He didn't seem to second guess himself as much anymore. There were a few times when Matt had brought his blonde lady friend home to an empty house and Hana had bared witness to some rather steamy encounters. If only computers could blush.

The girl, Molly, put on a brave face for them all. When the three men were out of the room she often lost herself in her thoughts, chewing on her lip and frowning. She wanted desperately to reach out to the girl, but interaction was out of the question. Molly also, when she was sure nobody was watching, took out an atlas and a pushpin and performed a little ritual that confused Hana. Oliver was the same as Molly. When he was alone he pulled out a picture from his wallet - of what, Hana could never see - and stared at it. If somebody were to enter the room, he would quickly tuck the picture away and offer them a smile she knew he didn't feel.

But she couldn't allow herself to care too much about them. Caring too much led to sloppiness. That's how Bennet died; he got sloppy. No, she would do nothing but her job. She would observe and report back to Nathan. When the time was right, whenever Nathan decided that was, she would warn them. For now she could do nothing more than wait.

* * *

**Mohinder Suresh & Oliver Gordon, New York, New York.**

Mohinder stared with unabashed astonishment at the highly concentrated dome of fog that mingled fifty feet away. At the center; Oliver. Almost as quickly as it had materialized, it dissipated into the atmosphere and Oliver was visible once again. Mohinder, in his excitement, crashed through the corn field towards Oliver, his eyes wide with wonder. He'd never seen anything like it.

"How on Earth did you do that?" Mohinder asked once he finally got within talking distance.

Oliver simply shrugged and smiled smugly. "I picked up a few things while you were off globetrotting."

"About that. I'm sorry that I haven't been around lately to help you develop your powers. It seems like you didn't need me anyways, so I suppose all is well." He looked down to his clipboard and began scribbling a few notes. "Can you describe to me how you did that?"

Oliver shrugged again. "I really don't know."

"Well, did you think of any particular emotion? Did you seep the fog from your body?"

Oliver huffed out a laugh at that last suggestion. "Seep it out of my body? Seriously?"

Mohinder smirked. "Trust me, stranger things have happened."

Oliver conceded the point. "Well, no, it didn't seep out of me and I wasn't thinking of any emotion. I just... wanted it to happen, you know?"

"So you just willed it to be?" Mohinder began to furiously scribble notes.

"I guess. I don't know."

"Is that how you isolated the fog as well? You just wanted it to be in one specific area?"

Oliver nodded. "Yeah. I actively wanted it to only make a bubble of fog around me and not cover the entire field. I was pretty specific about..," Oliver trailed off, unsure of what, exactly, he was being specific_ to_. "Pretty specific about thinking that, I guess," he finished, hoping his explanation wasn't too abstract. Mohinder, however, just nodded feverishly. Perhaps he had heard such an explanation before.

The next few minutes consisted of Mohinder asking Oliver about his trials and errors with his power; when he had tried his abilities and their results; what he was feeling or thinking at the time; how his control over his power evolved. Oliver patiently answered all the questions, but was secretly bursting at the seams. He had a few new tricks he wanted to show Mohinder. Once Mohinder had caught up with his notes, Oliver began to reveal the new aspects of his ability that he had discovered. They weren't anything particularly spectacular, but they were new, which made them exciting.

He started off by showing Mohinder how easily he could form and collect rain clouds. By now it was almost second nature to him. He hadn't, however, taken the final step and willingly created a thunderstorm yet. His rain clouds would have to do for now. As a few droplets began to fall from above, a distinct chill filled the air, cold enough to cause Mohinder's skin to break out into goose bumps. Then, to Mohinder's astonishment, it began to snow. Not the regular fluffy, light snow. This snow was heavy and wet, as if it hadn't been fully frozen.

"Incredible...," Mohinder said softly as he watched the skies. The clouds quickly disappeared, revealing the blue sky behind them. Mohinder lowered his head and gawked at Oliver, waiting for an explanation.

Oliver grinned back stupidly, overly proud of this little accomplishment. "I think I can control the temperature too." In case Mohinder misinterpreted what he was saying, he quickly added; "Just a little bit, though. I mean, I can't shoot ice out of my hands or burn down trees or anything, but I can make it snow if I want. If we go to the beach I can make sure it's nice and hot, too."

Mohinder managed to look both impressed and inquisitive at the same time. Oliver knew there was some sort of inner dialogue racing through his mind. After a moment, Mohinder's face registered competence. "Of course. The temperature clearly in an integral part of the weather, and if you control the weather, than you must control the temperature as well." Mohinder fell silent again, making theories, Oliver was sure, considering possibilities and all that scientific jazz.

Oliver lifted his wrist and looked at his watch. It was nearly seven o'clock at night. "We should probably get going. I promised Molly that I would clean her room for her."

"Why would you want to do that? Her room is a pigsty!"

"I keep losing our bet."

"What bet?"

"That one of these days I will find a hiding spot that is so good that even she won't be able to find me."

* * *

**September**

**Audrey Hanson, Matt Parkman & Oliver Gordon, New York, New York.**

'_Ohhh'_

Oliver lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes. They were trying to be quiet. In fact, he couldn't really hear anything unless he listened really hard.

Molly and Mohinder had decided to turn in early, leaving Oliver alone in the house. There wasn't much to do except surf the internet. When midnight rolled around there was a soft clicking of the lock at the front door. Oliver had peered over his shoulder and watched as Matt and Audrey walked in, hand in hand. As soon as they saw Oliver and knew that not everybody was in bed yet, they dropped their hands.

Oliver had quickly logged off and stood up. "Oh, you just caught me as I was going to bed," he had lied. He was sure that both Audrey and Matt had seen through the farce, but they weren't about to call him on it. He was offering them alone time. As he had made his way up the stairs, Matt mentally shot him a word of thanks.

What a mistake.

Oliver turned over in his bed and stared at the wall.

'_Ohhh'_

Nope, that didn't work. He grabbed this pillow and wrapped it around his head, covering his ears.

'_Yes.'_

That didn't work either. But he knew it wouldn't work anyways. He wasn't hearing real noise, so covering his ears wouldn't help.

'_Fuck, yes!'_

"That's it," Oliver mumbled, all but tumbling out of bed. He was not going to lay in bed all night and get no sleep. He stalked out of his bedroom into the hallway. Matt's room was right beside his, so he didn't have far to go. He knocked lightly on the door. No answer. Maybe they thought if they were quiet he would go away. Fat chance.

"Matt, I know you're in there."

Silence.

Oliver threw his head back in frustration and huffed out a sigh. He knew what he was about to say would highly embarrass his friend, but his sleep was more important than Matt's dignity right now. "Did you know," he said loudly through the door, "that you think _really_ loudly when you have sex?"

The silence this time seemed even quieter. Quiet, that is, until he could hear Audrey's muffled laughter through the door. Oliver smiled to himself. Mission accomplished. He padded back to his bedroom and shut the door. He fell asleep quickly, content with a job well done.

It came as no surprise that the next morning Matt glowered at him over his cereal.

* * *

**The Next Week**. 

**Nathan Petrelli, Claire Bennet & Matt Parkman, Helena, Montana.**

Matt sat beside Claire's bed, images flashing through his mind. Hallways, a few faces, a bright light, a surgical room, a scalpel. Matt gasped and shook himself free of the image before it could go any farther.

"You alright, Parkman?" Nathan asked, without real concern.

Matt nodded softly. He supposed that was the dangers of his new ability. He could do more than simply read minds. He could see memories. He held out his hand beside him and shook it briefly. Within moments, Nathan had plopped a rolled up piece of paper in his hand. Matt quickly unrolled it and began adding what he had seen. This is how these little sessions worked. Claire would remember the horrors The Company put her through and Matt would watch. He could only watch what she was remembering at that time, he couldn't dig through her mind for more information. From her memories of the facility, Matt was making a very rough map. Every hallway that she had remembered, he had added to the map. Of course, there were huge chunks missing since she wasn't brought to every part of the building.

There was a soft tap at his shoulder. He looked over and saw Nathan holding out a glass of water to him. These sessions were draining, both emotionally and physically. He experienced her memories as if they were his own, so the fears were always real. He was extremely thankful that he always seemed to snap out of it whenever the scalpel, or any other of the surgical instruments, came too close.

He quickly downed the glass of water and went back to the map, noting door numbers, corridors and possible exits. Any name that he happened to catch he wrote down off to the side. The two men who had most frequently brought Claire to the surgery room were named Brown and Stock. One of the surgeons name was Bracken.

"Do you think you'd be up for another go?" Nathan asked with a force that made it seem more like a demand than a question.

Matt firmly shook his head. "No. No, no more. We've both had enough for today," he said, placing a hand on the top of Claire's head gently. Nathan's brow furrowed as he did this and Matt was at a loss as to why. It hardly mattered.

Nathan leaned back against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. He knew that Matt was often too exhausted to read minds after a session with Claire, so he felt free to consider the matter of whether to warn him or not. So far his prediction was right; The Company hadn't made any threatening moves. Hana was making sure of that. No, he wouldn't tell them. It would only cause them undue fear. He stepped away from the wall and gave Matt's shoulder a squeeze.

"Good job today, Parkman."

* * *

**The Next Week**

**Oliver Gordon, Matt Parkman & Molly Walker, New York, New York.**

Oliver cracked an eye open and turned around in his bed to get a better view of the clock. Three o'clock in the morning. What the hell was Matt doing up? He could hear footsteps pacing downstairs. Mohinder was away again and they were too heavy to be Molly's. Oliver flipped onto his back and stared at the ceiling, a large yawn blooming on his face. He was too comfortable to tell Matt to go back to bed. He shut his eyes again and when he did so, heard something that disturbed him. From the room next to him, he could hear a soft snoring. Matt's snoring.

'_Matt..'_ he thought softly. Then, realizing that he really didn't need to_ think_ softly, repeated himself a little louder. _'Matt! Wake up!'_

"I'm up, I'm up..." Matt mumbled from the other room.

"_Shhh! Shhh!'_ Oliver thought quickly. _'Don't make any noise. I think there is somebody in the house.'_

'_What? Where?'_

'_Downstairs. He's...'_ Just then it dawned on him. Molly's room was downstairs. Could it be that this intruder was after Molly? He wasn't sure, but he wasn't going to take the chance. Oliver threw off his covers, concentrated for a brief moment, and conjured a thick fog that encompassed only their home. Downstairs, he could hear somebody - male, he was sure - mutter something. From the tone of voice, he wasn't please.

'_What are you doing?'_ Matt asked.

'_Molly's bedroom is downstairs!'_ Oliver shot back, creeping softly to his own bedroom's door, opening it silently.

'_Stay if your room! I'll take care of this!'_

Oliver ignored him. He crept down the stairs slowly, careful to skip the ones that creaked. He could hear Matt opening his door behind him. _'Don't move! You might run into something!'_ Oliver hissed mentally.

The movement behind him stopped, but that didn't keep Matt from expressing his concern. _'Oliver, what are you doing? You're going to get yourself hurt! You might run into something too!'_

'_I can see through this shit, remember? Whoever is in our house can't. I have the advantage here.'_

Matt's protests fell silent, although Oliver could still hear his worried thoughts. He gazed around the dark kitchen, but nobody was there. He swallowed hard and started creeping down the hallway towards Molly's room. Her door was open slightly. At that point Oliver abandoned all caution and raced down the hall, throwing Molly's door further open. Sure enough, there was a man standing over the sleeping Molly. He was clad all in dark colours and wore some weird goggles over his eyes.

"Hey!" Oliver called from the doorway. Molly woke up at that point and the man snapped his head up and stared at Oliver. Suddenly, he felt exposed. In his haste to get to Molly's room, he had forgotten to arm himself. The only things in Molly's room that he could really use as a weapon were some stuffed animals and an atlas. Before Oliver could make a move towards the atlas, however, the man looked back down at Molly and scooped her out of bed. Molly began to scream and call out for Matt, pounding her fists on the man's back.

Oliver forgot about the atlas and rushed foreword, intent on beating the man with his fists if he had to. But the man was too fast for him. Moments after he had taken hold of Molly, the man had made a b-line for the window. There was a loud crash as the window shattered, and then silence. No thud, no footsteps scampering away. Just the sound of the wind. Oliver raced over to the window, placing his hands on the sill and sticking his head out. He screamed Molly's name, ignoring the pain that was oozing from his hands from the broken shards to glass. He could hear Matt's thundering footsteps racing down the stairs, so he dropped the fog. Matt was behind him within moments.

"What happened? Where the hell is Molly?"

Oliver turned away from the window, his face desperate with emotion. "They took her, Matt. She's gone."


	7. Trapped

**The Calm Before by Mallinder**

**Summary:** The race to save Molly is on, leading Matt and Oliver to the resistance headquarters in Montana. After finding out the truth of Nathan's betrayal, Matt is forced to make a tough decision that could have potentially dangerous consequences.

**Rating:** This chapter is rated M for course language and violence.

**Disclaimer:** Any characters, places or situations you recognize from 'Heroes' are clearly from 'Heroes' and don't belong to me. Everything else is mine mine mine!

**Notes:** I am looking for a partner in crime. Anybody who is interested in receiving an advanced copy of each chapter in order to check for plot holes, grammar etc. please contact me. As the writer, sometimes I forget that readers aren't privy to all the information that's floating around in my head, so it would be nice to have an outside opinion of the chapters before I publish them.

P.S. Brownie points go out to whoever can spot Peter in this chapter!

P.P.S. Whew! I got a little carried away here! None of my essays are ever this long!

P.P.P.S. _(I know, this is getting ridiculous)_ The end of the semester is here, so this story might be going on a short hiatus, depending on how my schooling goes over the next couple weeks.

Also: I apologize to everybody for re-submitting this chapter, like, eight times or something. There are little things that I needed to change for plot continuity.

**Chapter 7 - Trapped**

**Nathan Petrelli, Helena, Montana.**

_Ding!_

Nathan spun around at the sound and looked across the room at his laptop. Hana must have some news. Last time she had reported in, Nathan learned of Matt's new roommate and his intriguing ability. Mohinder had said that new guy was willing to join the resistance, which was certainly a step in the right direction. He crossed the room and bent over, peering at the screen. The soft glow from the laptop illuminated his face as it twisted from excited expectation to a concerned scowl. An instant message had popped onto the screen;

--Wireless: we have a problem.--

* * *

**Matt Parkman & Oliver Gordon, New York, New York.**

"We need to call the police!" Oliver said with panic, spinning away from Matt and storming out of the bedroom. The palms of his hands were bleeding from the broken glass of the windowsill, but that was far from his biggest concern at the moment. His heart was knocking against his rib cage and the adrenalin pumping through his body dulled the pain.

"I_ am_ the police, Oliver," Matt replied. He bent down and picked a piece of fabric off the ground and took a few quick steps to catch up. He grabbed Oliver's shoulder and pulled back, forcing his friend to stop. Oliver turned and stared, his nostrils flaring with annoyance. "The police won't be able to help us. Not with this."

"What do you mean? Of course they can!"

"No, Oliver, they can't." Matt was trying to keep as level a head as he possibly could, even though his heart was lurching for some sort of forward action. "That wasn't a regular criminal. He was from The Company." To prove his point, he handed the piece of fabric to Oliver. It was black with a name written in gold lettering; Stock. It was the name he recognized from Claire's memories. He related as much to Oliver.

"The Company?" Oliver said softly, as if the phrase itself was a bad omen. "You mean The Company that finds people and kills them? The Company who chopped of Claire's limbs? _That_ Company?"

Matt nodded somberly. "Yes, that's why the police won't be able to help us. First of all, they don't know about The Company. They don't even know about people with abilities. All they would do is file a report. The resistance needs to get involved. I need to get to Montana as soon as I can." Matt turned away from Oliver at that point and headed for the stairs. There were a few thing he needed to pack before he left.

"Woah, woah!" Oliver exclaimed, giving chase. "What is this whole '_I'm_ going to Montana' business about? I'm coming with you."

"No, absolutely not," Matt immediately shot back. He entered his room and rifled through some drawers, pulling out various files with 'The Company' scrawled across the top. "If we are going to get Molly back than it's going to be dangerous."

"I can take care of myself."

"No, Oliver. No offense, but you're still a kid. You don't have the level of maturity we need for something like this." Matt stuffed the files, along with a few shirts and pants, into a small suitcase and was already heading back down the stairs.

"_Maturity?_" Oliver spat with complete indignation, following Matt.

"Don't think of it as a fault, Oliver. You're just too young and inexperienced to be completely responsible."

Oliver couldn't believe what he was hearing. He stepped closer to Matt, and although Matt was taller than he was, Oliver hardly felt submissive. "How dare you talk to me about maturity and responsibility! I have been raising that little girl almost by myself for the past six months," he spat, his nose wrinkling with anger, "while Mohinder has been out globe trotting and you have been following useless paper trails at work and screwing your girlfriend in your spare time!" He knew he would later regret what he said, but he was so offended by what Matt was implying that he hardly cared. "Every time that you dropped the ball, I was there to pick up the pieces."

Matt's face coloured, his fists balling at his side. For a moment Oliver seriously considered the thought that Matt would strike him. Instead, Matt just turned away and stomped towards the front door, intent on leaving. Oliver grew hot with anger. He refused to stay behind and sit on his ass while Molly was being poked and prodded and God knew what else at some terrible facility. Matt began to open the front door, but Oliver was hot on his heels and slammed it closed again.

"I'm going." He stared into Matt's eyes with ferocity, daring him to say no again.

"Oliver," Matt hissed. "I've already lost somebody that I care deeply for today. I'm not going to risk losing another. You're not going."

"Yes, I am!" Oliver wasn't even attempting to keep his anger in check anymore. There was a loud clap of thunder outside. Oliver threw up his arms, looked to a nearby window and screamed "Not now!", as if the thunder was like an annoying younger sibling that always interrupted at the most inopportune moments.

Behind them, in the living room, their home PC flickered on. A few moments later there was a soft dinging noise and an instant message box popped open. After it was left unattended to for more than a few seconds, it chimed again. Matt and Oliver both looked over the computer, then back at each other. It was a battle of wills on the part of both men whether or not to go and see what was on the screen. Matt, sensing Oliver's refusal to move from blocking the front door, gave in. He strode over to the computer and peered at the screen. After a brief moment, he dropped his head and sighed. It was too long for him to understand. The words meant nothing to him when they swam freely across the screen like that. He looked over at Oliver a little shamefacedly. "Come here."

Oliver shook his head with vigor. "Oh no, I'm not budging from this door until you let me go with you."

"Just get your ass over here and read this!"

Reluctantly, Oliver left his post and glided over to the computer. "I swear to God, Matt, if you run out that door I will kick your ass so hard," he hissed before turning to the screen. He read it aloud for Matt.

--Wireless: would u 2 stop bickering? I've secured 2 seats on the next flight 2 Montana. Nathan sez both of u r coming. Ur flight leaves from Newark airport in 3 hrs. We will b there 2 pick u up. Hurry!--

Matt pursed his lips as Oliver read aloud. He knew who sent this message. He would recognize that user name and terrible digital penmanship anywhere. It was Hana. But Hana was dead, a sacrifice on behalf of the greater good. Because of her, the marks on his neck were nothing more than a grim reminder of the two days he lost so long ago.

"_Two_ tickets! See! What's-his-face wants me to come, too!" Oliver was shouting again, determined to be included in Molly's rescue.

Matt was torn from his musings, the reality of the present situation settling into his mind again. Hana, if it really was Hana at all, could wait. Molly was infinitely more important to him. He wasn't sure if it was Nathan's request or Oliver's persistence, but he gave up the battle and decided to let him come. Or, really, he decided to not stand in the way of Oliver's involvement. "I'm leaving in ten minutes, with or without you," he said, clicking the monitor off. "Get whatever you need and meet me in the car."

Oliver didn't even pause to give thanks. He hurried upstairs and grabbed a couple changes of clothes. He stuffed them into a bag, along with the final installment of the Harry Potter series. He had been reading the series to her before she went to sleep every night, and he wanted to make sure he had it with him when they got her back. In his mind, there was no doubt.

* * *

**Nathan Petrelli & Hana Gitelman, Helena, Montana.**

--FlyingMan73837: I want an explanation. Now.--

--Wireless: Wat do u mean an explanation?--

Nathan typed furiously, pounding his fingers against the keyboard. Could she sense his anger when he did this? Her certainly hoped so.

--FlyingMan73837: WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED, HANA!!?--

--Wireless: Don't yell me. I did wat u told me 2 do.--

--FlyingMan73837: I told you to be on the lookout for anything suspicious! How could you possibly mess that up?--

--Wireless: Bak off. Keeping my eyes on them was a lot harder than u think.--

--FlyingMan73837: Explain to me how that simple task is so hard.-- His annoyance and frustration with Hana oozed out of every word he typed. This was totally unacceptable.

--Wireless: I don't exist like u do, Nathan. I cudn't C them. I cudn't hear them. I cud only read the electronic info. that was either cuming in or going out.-- That was a partial lie, she could see them through Mohinder's webcam from time to time, but she decided to leave that part out. It was irrelevant.

--Wireless: I didn't C anything out of the ordnary, so I didn't report anything out of the ordnary.--

Nathan didn't reply, so Hana went on.

--Wireless: As soon as I knew somebody was in the house, I reported bak 2 u.--

--FlyingMan73837: Did you see what that person looked like?--

--Wireless: I just kno wat he was wearing.-- Hana immediately realized the mistake she had made. Not moments ago she had just told Nathan that she couldn't see anything anymore. He was quick to point out her folly.

--FlyingMan73837: I thought you said you couldn't see--

--Wireless: I can't. Not rly. Mohinder had a camera on his computer, and I cud look through that.--

--FlyingMan73837: What else are you keeping from me, Hana?--

--Wireless: Nothing! I wasn't keeping anything from u. I just didn't think it was imprt. That doesn't matter right now, tho. The man I saw was wearing all blak. He had a name sewn into his coat, but I cudn't make out the name. He was wearing goggles over his eyes--

--FlyingMan73837: Goggles? Are you sure?--

--Wireless: Yes. Y?--

There was a short lull in the conversation as Nathan considered the possibilities. He knew that Matt's new roommate, he forgot his name at the moment, had the ability to control the weather. Mohinder had noted his uses of fog on more than one occasion. Could it be that The Company knew about this and came prepared? The thought disturbed him.

--Wireless: Nathan?--

--FlyingMan73837: Hana, until further notice, I need you to find Molly Walker, wherever she is, and keep up to date on her files. If they so much as touch a hair on her head, I want to know. I want to know her location, I want to know why they took her and I want to know what they are doing to her. Do you understand me?--

--Wireless: Yes, sir.--

--FlyingMan73837: Make sure you're careful. We can't afford to let them know that you still exist, Hana. You are our mole, our only real insider. Claire can only get us so much information. Don't mess this up.--

* * *

**Matt Parkman & Oliver Gordon, en route to Helena, Montana.**

Matt didn't need to read Oliver's mind to know why he was so restless. He felt the same way. Worse even, for Oliver's words had hit home. What Oliver had said before was true; he hadn't been there for Molly. Not for a long time. His promotion to detective had unfortunately taken a large chunk of his time away from Molly, but he had found ways to work around that. His budding romance with Audrey, however, had all but pushed Molly entirely to the side. He was completely infatuated with Audrey, in love even, and those feelings had blinded him to Molly's needs. With stunning clarity, which was surely prompted from the guilt he was feeling, he recalled the countless times Molly had asked when they would go to the park together again, when would he take her to a baseball game, when would they would just hang out? He also recalled, with a rush of both gratitude and jealousy, how Oliver had stepped in each time he had denied her something. Accompanying each save by Oliver was a disappointed, almost angry stare from his young friend.

Matt turned to looked over at him now, sitting uncomfortably in the window seat. He was staring out the window, his brow furrowed with worry, anxiously chewing on his thumb. Maybe he had underestimated the maturity of his friend. Maybe he was using Oliver's youth as an indicator of his maturity, rather than judging him on his actions. Matt huffed out a self desecrating sigh. He had treated Oliver unfairly.

"I'm sorry about before," his muttered quietly, trying not to draw the attention of the other passengers.

Oliver looked away from the window long enough to shoot him a dirty look. "Huh. I thought it would have been above you to apologize to an immature, irresponsible kid."

Matt experienced a flash of annoyance before realizing that Oliver must have been considerably offended to say something like that. A simple sorry wouldn't suffice. He deserved an explanation.

"Really, I am. I was out of line. I was too panicked to think clearly. I know you love Molly, and I know a lot of responsibilities have fallen on your shoulders. I just haven't been around enough to realize it. I'm sorry."

Oliver continued to stare at Matt. His face still registered annoyance, but the anger was fading from his eyes. He looked out the window again at the passing fields below. Every so often he would dot the ground with small domes of fog, testing and fine-tuning his ability. He didn't know if he would need to use it anytime soon, but he wanted to be prepared.

"I just want to get Molly back," he said eventually, neither accepting nor rejecting Matt's apology. Matt decided to let the matter rest for now. The rest of the flight was miserable. They were both tired, anxious and worried sick. However, the tension between them had faded to nothing, replaced by a silent comradeship.

Their plane landed in Helena a half hour later. They were quick to exit the airport, having only brought carry-on luggage. When they stepped outside, there was a woman in a flowy white blouse holding a sign that had their names written on it. She had luscious shoulder length hair, blonde, that had just enough curl in it to make it dynamic. Her face was beautiful in its softness and her almond shaped, seagreen eyes were rather captivating. She was rather chesty, but they were shaped in such a way that made them both classy and wildly attractive. Matt, having met her before, simply gave her a polite hello and stepped into the front seat. Oliver, however, had to pause and stare. She was smiling at him! He grinned stupidly back.

"I'm Elise," she said with warmth, extending her hand.

Oliver took it lightly, as if gripping too hard would break her hand. "I'm, uh. I'm Oliver."

There was an awkward pause as Oliver stared, an idiotic smirk on his face. The woman pressed her lips together and raised her eyebrows, a ghost of a smile curling on her cheeks.

"Shall we.. go?" she finally prompted, indicating her car with a wave of her hand.

Oliver nodded briskly and hopped into the back seat with more vigor than he thought possible for such a mundane task. When she took her spot in the drivers seat they rolled out of the airport. To Matt, a comfortable silence followed as they drove through the city, but to Oliver it was hopelessly awkward. He needed to say something. He was compelled to say something. Something intelligent. Something witty and charming.

"Soooooo... you're with the resistance? Me too!" Doink. Not exactly smooth. Elise, however, simply smiled and nodded. In the front seat, Matt chuckled like he was privy to some hilarious secret. Oliver found it infuriating, but declined to comment.

"Do you have a power?"

Elise nodded again, that soft, perfect smile still plastered to her face.

"Welllllllll...what is it?"

"To look fabulous."

Oliver let out and involuntary dry laugh. She was so funny! "No, really!"

Elise locked gazed with him through the rear view mirror, her eyes a mixture of that soft smile on her face and a penetrating stare that promised something both sinister and sexual. Both her hair and her skin began to glow very softly, giving her an angelic aura that both warmed Oliver's heart and made him want to throw her down and have his way with her. "Really," was all she said in response.

"Elise, knock it off. You're giving the boy hope," Matt said with humour. Elise's aura softened gradually until it vanished. Her gaze dropped to the road before her and Matt turned around in his seat to speak to Oliver.

"Elise's power is to be attractive. To be so gorgeous that she can get anybody to do anything she likes."

"Stop, you're flattering me."

"She makes you feel so comfortable in her presence that she can make you do something that could be totally opposite of what you would normally do. It can be pretty useful, especially when you're having a bad day. She can convince you to feel better."

"Like right now," Elise chimed in. "I know that both of your hearts are hurting. I know that you're both worried sick about Molly. I'm keeping you both from breaking down into sobbing messes with my angelic good looks and winning charm."

Oliver considered the validity of that last point while studying her brow line in the rear view mirror. When he first saw her, all of his worries seemed to melt away and he was filled with a certain contentedness. The entire car ride he had felt nothing less than perfectly pleasant. Even now, with the reminder of Molly's situation, he felt at ease.

"I have to warn you, though," she said, her tone losing its girlish charm and growing rather serious. "The moment I leave your general vicinity you are going to get hit with everything you were feeling before. The loss, the worry, the fear. It will all come back at the same moment, so be prepared."

The rest of the drive was spent in comfortable silence. Before long, Elise turned off of the main roads and started to head just out of the city limits. They began to pass farms with corn fields similar to the ones that he and Mohinder had their training sessions in. The car began to slow as Elise prepared to turn into a particular driveway. To Oliver it looked like a regular farm house - big, spacious, a bit run down. Was this the resistance headquarters? He had been expecting something a little fancier, maybe with barbed wire fences and security guards. His suspicions were confirmed when Elise cast him a glance in the rear view mirror.

"We're here"

* * *

**Nathan Petrelli & Hana Gitelman, Helena, Montana.**

--FlyingMan73837: Hana, are you there?--

--Wireless: Always--

--FlyingMan73837: I want a report on Molly.--

--Wireless: I havn't been able 2 get 2 much information so far.--

--FlyingMan73837: Let me know whatever you have--

--Wireless: ok. Molly isn't in Odessa like Claire wuz.--

--FlyingMan73837: She's not?--

--Wireless: No. They brought her 2 a smaller facility in London--

--FlyingMan73837: England!?--

--Wireless: No, Ontario. The facility there is a renovated factory that has been abandoned. The files say that there are only 20 or so Company members working there, and only 2 specials, Molly included.--

--FlyingMan73837: Good, that may make things a little easier. What else can you tell me? Have they done anything to Molly?--

--Wireless: Not as far as I can tell. Just a few blood samples. Her files say that she is 2 be observed only for now.--

Nathan looked out the front window of the farm house and saw a car pulling up. It must be Matt and his little friend.

--FlyingMan73837: I've go to go, Hana. Matt is here.--

--Wireless: I'll keep an eye on Molly.--

Nathan pushed back from the computer and stood up, straightening his shirt a little before heading to the front door. He wanted to make a good impression on Matt's new friend. After all, a good first impression was always the first step towards absolutely loyalty.

* * *

**Molly Walker, London, Ontario.**

Molly stretched out her arm and looked at the little holes in the crook of her elbow. Her other arm bared the same marks. Every time somebody entered her room, it was either to take blood or ask questions. She never answered the questions truthfully, if she answered them at all, but she couldn't find an excuse not to give blood. Every time they would stick the needle into her arm she would close her eyes and think of Matt. That's how she knew he was coming to her rescue. It warmed her heart to know that Oliver was coming, too. But it wasn't the figures of Matt and Oliver that was scribbled on the paper in front of her. The people in her drawing were completely fictitious. There was a woman with brown hair, labeled 'Mom', a man with black hair, labeled 'Dad', and a dog, whom she decided would be named 'Frankie'. It was an attempt to throw them off, to make them believe that Matt and Oliver didn't exist. She could only hope that these people would go off searching for her fake family, rather than her real one.

There was a clicking at the door of her whitewashed room as somebody tried to fit their key into the keyhole. Molly had already gotten used to that sound. Every time she heard it, the puncture holes in her arm began to burn. The door swung open a moment later and a man in a white lab coat entered, 'Bracken' scrawled across the left chest in gold, a silver tray covered by a cloth held in his hands. Molly knew the routine. She held out her left arm and continued drawing with her right. Sure enough, the prick of the needle came soon after.

"That's a nice picture you have there, Molly," the man said, slipping the needle back out of her vein.

"It's of my _family_," she replied, stressing the final word.

"Oh, now that's not true," the man replied casually, placing the vial of blood into his coat pocket. "We know exactly who is in your family, Molly. The geneticist Mohinder Suresh, the detective Matt Parkman and," a bitter look spread across the man's face, "Oliver Gordon."

Molly was forced to concede the point. If they knew, then they knew and there wasn't a whole lot she could do about it. She fell into a silent observation as the man scribbled notes on to a piece of paper. She wanted to go home. The people here weren't mean to her, but they weren't particularly nice either. They hadn't hurt her in any way, except to take blood, but she was still worried that they would.

The door to her room had a small window that, if she stood on the tippiest of her toes, she could just peek out of. There were a couple of times when she had seen two people in white coats accompanying, or more like dragging, a man down the hall. The man looked like he was sick - pale, sweaty, weak - but Molly's instincts were telling her that something more sinister was going on.

She was curious to know just why they had taken her but she was much too frightened to ask. What if it was something bad? What if they wanted to hurt her? Worse, what if they wanted to hurt Matt or Oliver? But Matt was always brave when it came to questions and answers. He had never shied away from an answer he thought he might not like. Maybe she shouldn't, either.

"Why did you bring me here?" She asked bluntly. The way she saw it, asking the most direct question first meant she had little time chicken out. It also got the most direct response.

The man looked up from his charts, a soft, if somewhat patronizing, smile blossoming on his lips. "Because, Molly, you are going to help me change the world."

* * *

**Matt Parkman, Helena, Montana.**

Matt had experienced the shock to his system before, but nothing like this. After they had arrived at headquarters, Elise left them to go phone Mohinder and fill him in on the situation . As soon as she had stepped out of the room it was some dark force had punched him in the stomach and stolen all the happiness from him. Out of the corner of his eye he even saw Oliver stumble. It took Matt a moment to regain his perspective of the current situation. Although his worry and frustration at the situation was certainly well founded, the void of despair he felt was not. Molly wasn't dead, she just wasn't with him at the moment. In time, they would be reunited. He would make damn sure of that. He looked over at Oliver and could see his young friend going through the same mental process, sorting out what emotions were valid and which ones were simply caused by Elise's departure.

Nathan was waiting patiently, his arms folded across his chest. He knew what the sensation was like, so he would allow his friends a moment to recuperate. After it looked like both men had sufficiently recovered from the emotional shock, Nathan extended his hand to Oliver, forcing a politician's smile onto his lips. "Oliver Gordon, I presume? I've heard a lot about you from Matt and...," he was about to say Hana, but caught himself quickly. "Mohinder."

Oliver gripped Nathan's hand firmly. "Hi. I wish I heard more about you. Mohinder is never around anymore and Matt doesn't like talking about the whole resistance thing in front of Molly." Shock registered briefly across Oliver's face before it fell into something more contemplative and a little sad. Matt knew why. He was talking about her as if she hadn't just been kidnapped by the same people who had brutalized Claire. As if she was still at home, waiting for Friday night pizza, waiting for Oliver to read her Harry Potter, waiting for Matt to lift her onto his shoulders.

Nathan's voice broke through his internal dialogue. "Why don't you come with me, Oliver. I'll show you around. There are a couple people who want to meet you. Just leave your bag there. I'll get Niki to bring it to your new room." Oliver did so, letting his bag hit the ground with a thunk, and disappeared into another room with Nathan.

Matt knew his way around the building enough to know exactly where he wanted to go. There was a back porch to the farm house that looked out across the unkept fields of wheat. He enjoyed the way it grew wildly, exactly as nature intended it to, without the interference of man. The gentle waves had a calming effect, and helped him sort out whatever mental turmoil he was in. They had changed time zones on their flight over so, if he was lucky, he might be able to catch the later part of the sunrise. He made his way through the house without incident and stepped out onto the back porch. The sun had already risen, but the fields were still golden from its glow. He chose his favourite wooden deck chair and sat down, letting the autumn wind cool his face.

Where the waves of the wheat once served as a soothing sight, now they served only as a reminder of Molly. The way her hair moved when she ran, the way her skirts swished when she walked. His brow furrowed as his thoughts took a darker turn. Why did he always fail at everything that he did? He was never popular at school, his report card was consistently below mediocre, his father left him, he had been suspended twice at work. He was such a terrible husband, apparently, that Janice felt the need to not only cheat on him, but to leave him entirely. Being a father to Molly had been one of the most important aspects of his life, to the point where the definition of his character revolved around his parenting. But he had let that slip as well. Slowly but surely, Molly was taking a back seat to other aspects of his life. Audrey, his job, the resistance. Molly had been provided for in those times, but simply providing for her wasn't being a father. He wanted to make things right, to be fully present in her life once again, but now he couldn't because he had failed to protect her.

There was a creak as the door to the porch swung open, soon followed by the sound of footsteps across the deck. "It's beautiful isn't it." Niki had joined him, a grey shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Matt simply nodded. "Micah insists that I wake him up early every morning so he can see the sunrise." She cast her gaze down to the weathered planks below her feet. A soft, maternal smile spread on her face. "Of course, whenever I do wake him up he tells me to leave him alone."

'_I don't know how to tell you.'_

Matt remained silent, stonefacedly staring across the field. He liked Micah, he really did, but talking about children was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Your friend seems nice," Niki continued, taking a seat next to Matt. "He's pretty funny. They just met, but he and Micah are already friends."

'_Please don't hate me.'_

Matt declined to comment, either about Oliver or the content of her thoughts. He had heard thoughts like this before, questioning, wanting to say something but not knowing how. He often found the best way for them to get whatever it was off of their chest was to not force the issue. Asking what was wrong inevitably led to the same answer every time; "nothing".

"Molly... we'll get her back, Matt."

'_I'm so, so sorry. I should have told you.'_

Matt still said nothing, but turned to face Niki. He gave her a knowing, encouraging look, trying to let her know without words that she should just come out and say it, whatever it was.

"Matt..." she started, averting her gaze to the field of wheat. She didn't want him to see the shame in her eyes. She huffed out a sigh, clearly torn. "Nathan would kill me if I told you."

"Then don't _tell_ me." Matt replied simply, hoping she would understand his subtle suggestion.

'_We knew, Matt.'_

"About what?" he asked aloud, slightly confused.

'_You were being watched, Matt. The Company knew where you lived and who lived with you. I wanted to tell you, I did, but Nathan said that we shouldn't. He said it would be too dangerous to tell you. He told all of us to stay quiet. He said--"_

But her thoughts were falling on deaf ears, so to speak. Matt had already risen sharply from his chair, his feet clomping on the old wood as he threw the back door open. He had broken out into a cold sweat and his fists were balled tightly at his sides. Nathan knew. Nathan knew, and he did nothing. It was his fault that Molly was taken. He found Nathan with Oliver and Micah in Micah's bedroom. Before any of them had a chance to ask why he looked so angry, Matt took a few charging steps towards Nathan, threw his arm back and brought his fist across Nathan's face so hard that the politician stumbled backwards and fell to the floor.

"You son of a bitch! You _son of a bitch!_"

Oliver had the good sense to gently usher Micah from the room. "C'mon, kiddo. Show me how to hack into my academic records. I want A's in all my courses." Oliver offered Matt a questioning, if not critical look as he shut the door behind him.

Nathan glared up at Matt from the floor, his nose bloodied but his honour taking most of the damage. "Parkman, what the hell is wrong with you!"

Matt leaned over Nathan and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. With a strength born from fury, he lifted the smaller man off of the floor and slammed him against the bedroom wall. His nostrils flared as he glared penetratingly into Nathan's eyes, his nose wrinkling with anger. "You knew," he spat, his fists curling into the fabric of Nathan's shirt. "You knew that we were in danger and you did nothing to stop it."

"Put me down, Parkman," came Nathan's cool reply.

"More than that, you told everybody else to keep quiet about it, too!"

"Put me down, Parkman. Now."

Matt slammed Nathan against the wall again. "_Don't tell me to put you down! _They have Molly because of _you!_" he roared, his voice booming through the house.

"Put me down, Matt and I will explain everything."

Matt didn't put him down. He threw him down. Hot tears of rage, betrayal and the ever present worry welled in Matt's eyes as he loomed over Nathan. "Wasn't it bad enough that they stole _your_ daughter from _you_? Is this some sick way to even the score? If they get your daughter, then they get mine as well? Is that how it works? Will you hand Micah to them on a silver platter next?"

"You're being ridiculous, Parkman."

There was a soft click as the door to Micah's bedroom opened. Elise stepped his, her face wracked with concern. "What's going on in here?"

"Stay out of this, Elise!" Matt snarled, bending down to pick Nathan up again.

It only took a moment for Elise to put the puzzle together. Matt, with a bloodied hand, was standing over Nathan, who was sporting a bloody nose. She rushed forward and grabbed Matt's arm, trying to prevent him from hurting Nathan again, but Matt shook her off with ease. He grabbed Nathan's collar and began shaking him against the floor.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a soft, angelic glow begin to spread across the room. Elise was trying to diffuse the situation with her power, but Matt refused to experience a contentment that he did not feel. He turned on her in an instant. "Do _not_ pull that shit with me, Elise!" The glow in the room faded quickly. "Did you know, Elise? Did you know that we were being watched? Did _Nathan_," he spit out the name with venom, "tell you to keep quiet?"

Elise managed to look shocked, apologetic and full of pity all at the same time. "It's not what you think, Matt. We didn't tell you for a reason."

"So you knew! You knew and you said nothing. When you picked us up from the airport you had the audacity to actually look me in the eye and tell me you were worried about her."

"I _am_ worried about her!" Elise screeched back. "If you would just calm down for a second we could tell you why we didn't let you know!"

"Whatever excuse you have it's not going to be good enough. Molly is gone because of you." Matt shot daggers at both Nathan and Elise for a few moments before turning around and exiting the bedroom. "I'm going to get Molly back."

Elise rolled her head back in exasperation and gave chase. "What are you going to do, just waltz in the front door of The Company and ask for her back? If you want to help her. If _we _want to help her" she corrected herself, "we need all the information we can about the facility. We'd be doing her more harm than good if we were all captured or killed."

"Well, lucky for me we have Claire. She's all I need right now. I'll just get what I can from her. If you want to help afterwards, fine. If you don't I won't be surprised."

"Leave Claire out of this," Nathan scowled, joining Elise and Matt in the hallway. "She's been through enough. She doesn't deserve you poking around in her brain anymore."

"You're the one who wanted me to do it, Nathan!" Matt replied with incredulity.

"Well, I don't want you doing it anymore." Nathan replied coldly, fixing Matt with a direct, authoritative and powerful stare, expecting obedience.

Matt, however, refused to obey. He took a threatening step towards Nathan and whispered fiercely; "I will_ tear_ through her mind to get the answers I need to get Molly back."

Nathan stared back defiantly, his lips pursed and his eyes narrowed. "You're not going to go near Claire. Do you know why, Parkman? Because I said so. In fact, consider it an order from the elected resistance leader." The two men had somewhat of a stare down, each refusing to give an inch on their respective opinions and goals. That is, until Matt spun away and stormed down the hallway, mentally hurtling insults at Nathan.

At first Nathan thought Matt was going to blow off some steam, maybe sit outside or go for a walk. However, the directionality of Matt's footsteps said otherwise. He was going to Claire's bedroom. Nathan swore fiercely under his breath and gave chase. It wasn't that he didn't want Molly back - far from it. He wanted Molly safe just as much as everybody else. He was refusing Matt permission to see Claire so he would learn a little self restraint. When Matt found purpose in something, or someone, he threw himself fully into it, regardless of the consequences. Matt had too much passion and Nathan was trying to quell that.

Nathan reached Claire's door and was not surprised to find that it was locked. He pounded on the wood with his fist. "Parkman, open the damn door!"

Inside, Matt sat beside Claire's bed. He didn't have much time, but he didn't need much time. Nathan knew how dangerous it could be to interrupt Matt while he was inside Claire's mind, so he was confident that as long as he was able to start a session with Claire, Nathan would wait, impatiently, for him to finish. However, Nathan was already pounding on the door so Matt had to be quick.

He gently grabbed Claire's hands and cupped them within his own. "Claire," he said soothingly. Claire, even at the mention of her name, continued to stare blankly at the ceiling. "Claire, I don't like what I'm about to do to you, but I need you to understand why I'm doing it. It's Molly. I'm not sure if Nathan ever comes in here to talk to you, but they took her. I can't let them do to her what they did to you. I won't. I need the information from your memories too quickly to wait for you to cooperate, so I have to take it from you. I'm sorry."

Although his conscious was hardly clear from making that little speech, Matt needed to press on. He gently tilted her head so she would face him. He took a calming breath before locking gazes with her, his penetrating, hers void of anything at all. He concentrated on her pupils, trying to see past them into the memories that they hid from the world. His peripheral vision began to blur and a fuzzy image began to form in his mind. In a flash it was gone. Claire was resisting. He tried again, clenching his lips together with concentration. The image became a little clearer, but he still wasn't in. There was silence at the door now, and Matt knew that Nathan had gone to fetch Niki. She would be able to break into the room in seconds, so Matt needed to make his last attempt count.

He stared fiercely into Claire's eyes, wrinkling his nose and clenching his jaw. He had always thrown in the towel when she started to resist before, but this time he needed to pry his way in. Pushing past her unwillingness was like the mental equivalent of walking through mud - it was thick, troublesome and required some force to get through. He could mentally see the end of her resistance approaching when something in his mind clicked over. One moment he was Matt Parkman sitting in a room in Helena, Montana. The next moment he was Claire Bennet, in a whitewashed room in, if her memories were to be trusted, Odessa, Texas. This was the dangerous part in his sessions with Claire, mostly because this is where he lost so much control over the situation. He was fully engrossed in her memories as Claire, experiencing every emotion, thought and shot of pain that she had felt at that particular moment.

--

_He was huddled in the corner of the room, his knees brought up to his face, tears streaming down his cheeks. He didn't want them to hurt him again. Didn't they know that he felt pain? Didn't they know that every time they cut off a toe, finger or ear it was excruciating beyond his capability to bear? He just wanted to go home. Go home to mom. Go home to Lyle. Even go home to Mr. Muggles._

_He could hear footsteps coming down the stark hallway - footsteps he remembered and feared. The door opened a moment later and a man he only knew as Bracken entered the room. Bracken had never been particularly nice to him, but he hadn't been particularly mean either. After months in captivity, however, Bracken had grown cold, violent and demanding. Where Bracken used to ease him into the next surgery, now he did it quickly and without emotion. Today was no different. Bracken approached him with a needle containing a pinkish liquid and sunk it into his arm without preamble. Within moments, he was feeling distinctly woozy and a certain numbness had spread through his body. It was a numbness that didn't prevent him from feeling, rather it prevented him from moving. Bracken lifted him up off of the floor and placed him on a nearby stretcher. He was wheeled out of his whitewashed room and pushed through several hallways. _

In a very distant, unconscious part of his mind, Matt was processing the information.

_He reached a room that he recognized with nothing short of terror. He had been in this room too many times before. His chest began to heave and tears leaked out of the corner of his eyes as he stared at the stark white light above. The sedative he was given not moments ago was beginning to wear off, the regenerative blood coursing through his veins rejecting the foreign substance. He could hear the tinkling of instruments beside him and the sound of several more people entering the faux surgery room. Just as the sedative wore off completely, he could feel his arms, legs and head being secured tightly to the stretcher, restricting his movements to nothing. Bracken then loomed over him, a large scalpel in his hands._

"_Today, Ms. Bennet," he started, twisting the scalpel in his fingers, "we are going to observe how long it takes for your lips to regenerate once removed." With the back of the scalpel, Bracken traced his intended incision line around his lips. Even though the metal was cold, the area he traced felt like it was searing hot. "Are we ready, Ms. Bennet?"_

_He shook his head, his tongue refusing to produce sound out of fear that it, too, would be removed. Bracken merely frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that, Claire. We are on a time schedule and we cannot wait any longer." With that, Bracken lowered the sharp end of the scalpel to the area just above his top lip._

As soon as he felt the white hot pain on his lips, Matt's mind began throwing red flags. Usually this was the part where the connection between him and Claire had been broken. But something was different this time. He wasn't being allowed to return to reality.

_He screamed, the fierce vibration of his vocal cords echoing through the room. The pain was unbearable. He could feel the scalpel splitting his skin as it traced around his lips. With the initial incision complete, Bracken began to dig the knife under the skin, sawing away at the muscle and fat until it poked out the other side. In a moment that almost made him vomit, he could feet his top lip being completely removed from his body, leaving nothing more than a bloody mess. He screamed and was horrified to see that the force of his bellow sent small chunks of his mutilated lip into the air. Bracken held the removed lip above his patient's head, examining it with little more than mild curiosity before tossing it to the floor. "And now for the bottom..."_

_-- _

"Break the damn door down, Niki!" Nathan cried with genuine concern. Screams were issuing from inside Claire's room, screams that were more than mere hysterics. They were screams of genuine horror. Quite a crowd had gathered outside of Claire's room at the commotion. Elise was standing a few feet from the door, her brows lifted with worry. Although the new kid, Oliver, was trying to keep Micah away from the adult bickering, his curiosity had overcome him and he was poking his head out of the kitchen, where he had taken Micah. Several other members of the resistance had come to find out what the commotion was all about. Judging by the floating apple, Claude had joined them as well.

Niki had tried to simply yank the door open, but only succeeded in breaking the doorknob. Now she was attacking the wood with her fists. Large, splintered craters being left where her hands made contact. The screaming on the other side of the door had been replaced by a pained wheezing. The next few strikes did nothing more than punch holes straight through the wood. She decided to try a different tactic, kicking at the door just above the doorknob. This yielded much better results. With just a few more jabs with her foot, the door flew open.

Nathan pushed by Niki with his lips curled back in some sort of primal snarl. He was going to make Matt pay for this. Nathan, however, stopped short. The scene in front of him wasn't exactly what he had expected. Claire was on her back as usual, the same lost expression on her face. Matt, however, was not leaning over her like he usually did. He was slumped back in his chair, his mouth hanging slightly open. His eyes were wide, indirect and lost.

Nathan felt somebody push past him and a moment later Oliver was standing beside Matt, waving his hand slowly in front of Matt's face. "What's wrong with him? What happened?"

Before Nathan could answer, Matt's face began to curl into a look of terror and despair. A light bulb went off in Nathan's mind and began putting the pieces together. He cast a quick glance at Claire. She was doing the same thing as Matt. A moment later both the police officer and the former cheerleader were letting out synchronous, blood curdling screams. With a chill that ran down his spine and washed over his body, Nathan realized what had happened. Matt had invaded her mind and was now stuck within, trapped in the unending cycle of horrific memories.

"He's trapped," Nathan said, a shocked sadness ringing in his voice. He cast a glance to the members of the resistance, settling poignantly on Oliver. "I think we've just lost Matt."

* * *

**R & R please! Constructive criticism is always welcome and extremely helpful (especially to a first time writer!) Was it too long? Too boring? Too lame? Too ****cliché? Not informative enough? Too much useless information? Let me know!  
**


	8. Betrayal

**The Calm Before by Mallinder**

**Summary: **Matt experiences the horrors of Claire's memories, Molly's situations becomes increasingly dire and a betrayal is uncovered.

**Rating: **This chapter is rated M for course language and violence

**Disclaimer: **Any characters you recognize from 'Heroes' are clearly from 'Heroes' and don't belong to me. Everything else is mine mine mine!

**Notes: **School has officially taken over my life. Essay's run through my veins and theories play before my eyes! I'm sorry this chapter took two freaking months to get out, but I am drowning in so much school work that I think my lungs have paper cuts. WHY AM I TELLING YOU THIS? I SHOULD BE STUDYING. --shuffles off--

**Chapter 8 - Betrayal**

**Matt Parkman**

_The pain was unbearable. Every time Bracken dragged the scalpel across his skin he felt like vomiting. When he would try to distract himself from the pain by regressing into his mind, all that his mind's eye could see was skin splitting, muscles being torn through and blood pouring unyieldingly from wounds. He would try to think of his father, and those silly horn rimmed glasses he had picked out, but his father's face would twist and morph into a snarling Bracken, ready to pounce with his instruments._

"_Today, Ms. Bennet," Bracken said, looming over his naked body, "we take it up a notch. The removal of your lips and toes bore me now. We have established many times over that the amputation of such small parts of the body leave no lasting damage. They grow back within minutes. But what if we were to remove something...larger? Say, an ear? Or perhaps an entire foot?"_

_Matt was bound so tightly to the surgical table that it was difficult to shake his head. "No..no please! Please, I'm begging you! Stop! Sto-op!" He knew it was a futile attempt, begging for mercy. Bracken had grown increasingly cold, increasingly violent from the first time they met. At first the experiments were nothing more than a paper cut, or perhaps a small burn – things that happened in every day life. Bracken had even taken considerations for him, giving him breaks if he asked politely enough. He had tried to provide anesthetic, but his body rejected the foreign substance, leaving him exposed to the pain. But those days had disappeared rather quickly. Now Bracken was cold and menacing. He didn't attempt to sedate him and he certainly didn't take his pleads for mercy seriously. If there was one thing he could be thankful for, it was for the fact that Bracken was often too eager to slice and dice to even consider taking it slow. Matt closed his eyes tightly, his body tingling with the anticipation of where the searing heat would bloom; where Bracken's scalpel would split is skin._

"_I'm feeling adventurous today, Ms. Bennet. An ear just won't quell my thirst for excitement. I think we will see how long it takes your entire foot to grow back." Bracken chuckled briefly and leaned closer to Matt's ear. "I will make you a bet, Claire. If your foot grows back within the hour, I'll buy you a pizza with any toppings that you want."_

_Matt held his breath, his face scrunching tightly. To his horror, he heard the slight clinking of Bracken's scalpel being placed back onto his tray, replaced by the terrible whizzing sound of a surgical saw. Matt barely had time to react before his entire consciousness was filled with a pain that was so extreme, a small part of his mind shut down, refusing to endure the torture any longer._

* * *

**Audrey Hanson, Helena, Montana.**

Audrey wasn't a woman who cried. She was a woman who sat through her own mother's funeral stone faced, accepting the truth of the situation rather than repeating comforting denials. Her job as an FBI agent taught her how to be unemotional, how to observe facts without interference. How to deal with the corpses of children who had been abused and tossed aside without shedding a tear. No, Audrey was not a woman who cried. But God strike her down if she didn't want to collapse into anguished tears every time she heard Matt scream. She had arrived in Helena two days ago after getting a disturbing phone call from Matt's room mate, Oliver. Nathan had filled her in on the situation, how Matt had somehow trapped himself inside of Claire's disturbed memories, and she could only imagine the kind of torture he was experiencing.

It always started with Claire. Her face would scrunch and a moment later, so would Matt's. She would whimper and a moment later, so would Matt. Audrey knew that after the scrunch and the whimper came the scream. That terrible, blood curdling scream that made her soul want to weep. It was a pattern that she had grown used to over the past two days, having sat her vigil at his side. So when she saw Claire's face begin to scrunch, she knew what was coming. She slipped her hand into Matt's, squeezing it lightly, hoping her touch would somehow bring some comfort to him.

"Niki!" she screeched over her shoulder. "Niki, hurry! It's happening again!" That was another thing she had learned fairly quickly. Niki had an uncanny ability to calm Claire, thereby calming Matt. Audrey wasn't sure if it was motherly instinct or something more, and she didn't really care. As long as it got the job done. She could hear the thundering footsteps of Niki as she hurried across the upstairs floor to the stairs, but it was too late. Matt's hand tightened painfully over her own a moment before he started to scream in sync with Claire. But this time it was different. This time it was worse. Before, the screams had been more fearful, but now they were nothing but pain, an anguish so fierce that she knew a little hand holding would be of no comfort.

Niki crashed through the threshold, a towel wrapped around her otherwise naked frame, her hair wet and straggly behind her. She glided over to Claire's side and cupped the cheerleader's face in her hands, forcing eye contact. "Claire.." she said softly to the screaming face. "Claire, you are with friends, you hear? You aren't with that monster anymore. You're safe here," she cooed, stroking her hand over Claire's shortened hair. It only took a moment for two for the screams to cease, Claire's face, and by association, Matt's, fell from a heightened state of terror to absolutely nothing. His face went blank and emotionless, the eyes bearing no soul. Niki dropped her head and huffed out a sigh. "You would think it would get easier with time," she mumbled, mostly to herself.

Audrey slipped her hand out of Matt's and stretched her crushed fingers, taking a moment to gather her composure before speaking. "Nathan told me about Elise and what she can do. Why don't you just use her when they get upset?"

Niki stepped back from Claire and took a few steps towards the door. She usually stayed a few minutes after an episode, but she was also usually dressed. "We tried that, but it didn't really work. All Elise can do is make _you_ feel good, not your memories." She pulled a face. "I'm not making a lot of sense, am I?"

"Nothing makes a lot of sense anymore. A year ago I didn't even believe these sorts of things existed. Now Matt is trapped inside the memories of a regenerative cheerleader who was tortured by a company that wants to evolve the planet. I consider myself to be a logical person, and even I can barely figure that out."

Niki offered Audrey a sad smile from the doorway. "Why don't you take a break, Audrey? You haven't left this room since you got here. You must be exhausted."

"I am," she admitted. "But I want to be here if he has another episode."

"I'll tell you what. Give me ten minutes to slap on some clothes and get a bite to eat, and I'll stay here and watch them while you get some sleep. You can use my bed, if you'd like."

"I would like that." Audrey smiled up at Niki with gratitude. She barely knew any of these people, but they were all being so kind to her. Matt had spoken to her before about the resistance, but she had passed off the entire scenario as one of Matt's many tales that, until recently, she thought were made up. Now she wasn't so sure. Nathan had given her a very short briefing on The Company, it's goals, and the resistance, but it wasn't enough to satisfy her growing curiosity of the entire subject. She had connections within the FBI and a sharp mind to boot. Who knows, maybe she would be an asset to the team one day. For now, though, her only concerns remained with Matt.

* * *

**Molly Walker, London, Ontario.**

"I want to go home!" Molly wailed as Cook approached. Cook was another one of the scientists at the facility, but he was much nicer than Bracken. Even the name made Molly shiver. She had managed to keep herself calm for the past few days, the knowledge that Matt and Oliver were coming to her rescue giving her strength. But something terrible had happened that shook her to her soul. In the interludes between Bracken's increasingly regular visits, Molly had taken to watching the hallway outside of her room. She would stand on her tip-toes and look through the window in her door, this rubbernecking serving as one of her only sources of entertainment. The man who she had seen before, the one who needed to be held up by two guards, was dragged by her room at an increasing pace – almost twice every hour. Every time the man passed, he shot Molly a look that was filled with a dreadful, knowing pity. But that man wouldn't be brought by her room anymore. No more than two hours ago the man took his last journey through the hallways, this time being dragged by his feet. He had been wrapped in a thick, clear plastic, his face frozen in a moment of terror.

"We can't let you go home yet, Molly." Cook replied with a certain note of sympathy. "We've talked about why you are so important to us. You are going to help this company change the world."

"I don't _want_ to change the world! I _want_ to go home! I _like_ being special! Why do you want to take that away from me?"

"We're not taking anything away from you, Molly," Cook explained with patience, preparing his instruments for yet another blood test. "You aren't going to lose your ability, you are going to share it with the world. Or at least with the people who can do some good with it. Think about it, " he said, sticking the needles into her vein, "if the FBI had the ability to locate anybody with only their mind, they could save the lives of many missing people. They could put bad guys behind bars. If we can figure out a way to evolve people--"

"Mohinder said that evolving people isn't good," Molly cut in.

"Mohinder." Cook repeated the name with interest. "The geneticist. He's your guardian now, right? Why don't you tell me more about him?" When Molly remained silent, Cook pressed. "Is he nice to you? Does he talk to you about your ability? Does he know how you control it?"

"He's...he's nice," Molly said hesitantly, stalling for time. She knew she had made a mistake. She had remained adamantly tight lipped about her family, not wanting to jeopardize their safety, and she had to go and say something like that. "He's busy a lot...and, uhm.."

The door to her room swung open them, effectively ending their conversation. Bracken stood at the threshold, his face stern and rather cold. "What are you doing in here, Cook?"

Cook twisted his body to face the door. "I'm talking with Molly, what does it look like?"

Bracken's eyes narrowed considerably with annoyance. "Molly doesn't _get _to talk with anybody until she starts cooperating." Bracken's cold, grey eyes drifted to Molly as a malicious grin curved the corner of his lips. "Good news, Molly. We've finished with our last guest, Mr. Sullivan. Unfortunately, we didn't get the results that we were hoping for. But I am a determined man," he said, fingering a syringe filled with a yellow liquid as he approached, "and I feel that if we work hard enough with you, I _will_ get the answers I'm looking for."

"That's enough." Cook said with authority, standing from Molly's side and pacing towards Bracken. He stepped close to the doctor and spoke in hushed tones. "She's just a kid. You don't need to scare her."

"She's not 'just a kid', Cook," Bracken hissed back. "She's an assignment. Our orders are to get the information we need, however we need to get it." He turned away from his colleague and faced Molly. "We're going to be seeing a lot more of each other, Molly. I look forward to our time together." With that, Bracken spun away, exiting the room swiftly. Cook lingered for a moment longer, daring to cast a sad glance at the small girl before he, too, left the room.

Once the sound of their footsteps echoing down the hall died out, Molly rushed over to the atlas they had provided for her and flipped through the pages until she reached Montana. She hated using her power while she was in this dreadful place, but thinking of her family helped to calm her when she was frightened, and Heaven knew she was petrified. She dumped the small carton of push pins onto her bed and spread them, looking for an orange one. Orange was always the colour she used when she thought of people she loved. She placed the atlas flat on her lap and held the push pin over the map. She closed her eyes and thought of her newest friend, Oliver. Her arm began to jerk across the page as visions of her friend began to flood into her mind. Oliver on a flight with Matt; Oliver arriving at a farmhouse; Oliver on a computer, typing furiously. The last image to whiz through her mind was of Oliver standing in a wildly overgrown corn field, patches of fog drifting in and out of existence around him. Molly opened her eyes and looked down at the page. The push pin had landed the same place as before – just outside of Helena, Montana.

She lifted her arm off of the atlas, closed her eyes, and this time thought of Mohinder. Her arm darted across the page again, quick scenes of Mohinder playing in her mind. Mohinder with a boy who could climb walls; Mohinder with a woman who could understand her farm animals; Mohinder on a flight and finally, Mohinder arriving at the familiar farmhouse. Molly's concentration broke as her face broke into a smile. Mohinder was coming to her rescue too!

She reset her arm over the atlas, a small smile still present on her lips, and concentrated on Matt. Her arm hovered over the page, unsure of what to do. Her mind was drawing a blank. She shook her head quickly and tried again. Her arm still refused to move, but an image began to form in her mind. She grasped at the image before it had the chance to disappear, clinging tightly so she at least catch a glimpse of the one person in this world who made her feel absolutely safe. It was fuzzy and disorienting, but she was able to make out a few distinct features. A barely furnished room, spacious but empty, whitewashed walls. Molly's eyes flew open, effectively casting the mental image away. However, the scene before her was much the same as the one that she had just seen – a barely furnished room, spacious but empty, with whitewashed walls.

* * *

**Oliver Gordon & Mohinder Suresh, Helena, Montana.**

Oliver could hear the crunching of footsteps behind him, but didn't bother turning around to see who it was. Whoever it was, they could wait. Oliver had nearly perfected his control over his fog and didn't want to be bothered. He could do much more than simply produce it now. He could actively control where it went, how thick it was and how encompassing he wanted it to be. He could send an entire city into pea soup, or he could isolate a small sphere of fog around a single person, effectively reducing their vision to zero. What was more, making the fog, in all of its various forms, was almost second nature to him now. Where before he had to concentrate on exactly what he wanted to happen, now an quick thought could do the trick. He had been working on a new trick when the sound of footsteps broke his concentration. By the hesitant, unsure sound of the steps, Oliver knew it was Mohinder. Like Audrey, he had arrived only a couple days ago.

"Don't you think you should call it a day?" the scientist asked, making it sound more like a suggestion than a question.

"No, I don't," came the simple reply. Oliver was far from finished with his work. This new trick of his could really come in handy.

"You've been at it for hours. Come inside and eat. I'm going to make chicken tikka masala."

"I'm not hungry," he replied in clipped tones.

Oliver could hear Mohinder huff out an exasperated sigh behind him. He didn't care. Food could wait. What was important right now was the development of his powers. The technique he was working on involved the density, and therefore colouration of his fog. If he could create a darker, denser, almost shadowy patch of fog within the lighter, brighter fog it might pass as a silhouette of a person. Being able to create that illusion could be a helpful distraction when they rescued Molly.

"Oliver, I know that controlling the weather, or whatever you want to call it, takes a lot out of you. When you first came to New York you were out cold for two days because you overused your ability."

"What's your point?" Oliver replied without interest. He was still focusing on his new technique and Mohinder's babblings were quite distracting.

"My point _is_," Mohinder said with impatience, "that you need rest."

"No," Oliver shot back, "I need to be prepared." A thought occurred to him then, the patch of fog he was manipulating dissipating as his concentration broke. He turned to Mohinder with an annoyed, almost accusative expression. "Speaking of which, when are we going to get her? Molly was taken almost a week ago now and I haven't seen anybody making any effort to help her. In fact, I'm the only person here who actually seems to be concerned about her at all."

"Come on Oliver, you know that isn't true."

"Isn't it? We haven't had a single meeting since she was taken on how to get her back. I've tried to talk to Nathan about it but he always finds some reason to blow me off. Elise is no better. Niki seems worried, but she isn't really doing anything about it. Claude...I don't even know why he's here. He's a selfish bastard. I've tried talking to Hana, but she doesn't tell me much. I've asked her where Molly is, how to get there, security details but all she tells me is that Molly hasn't been hurt. I mean, it's infuriating! Aren't there other people in this resistance that we can call on for help?"

Mohinder hesitated before replying. He was sure Oliver wasn't going to like his answer. "Well..no, not really."

"What to you mean?"

"I mean this is it. This _is_ the resistance. Nathan, Elise, Niki, Hana, Claude..." Mohinder trailed off, his expression apologetic.

Oliver went slack jawed with indignation. "You've _got_ to be kidding me! Five people? _Five_ people?"

"Well, there is you, Matt and I.." Mohinder added lamely.

"This isn't a resistance!" Oliver bellowed, "This is a joke!"

Mohinder could tell how upset his friend was, not by the anger on his face or the incredulity in his voice, but by the dark, threatening clouds that had suddenly rolled in. This rarely happened anymore, Oliver's unchecked emotions causing a stir in the weather, so Mohinder knew he must be furious.

"You're telling me that you are trying to bring down a super secret, technologically advanced, ruthless company with _five_ people? That we only have _five_ people to help save Molly? God-_fucking_-damn it, Mohinder!" A rumble of thunder rolled overhead poignantly. Oliver threw his hands up in the air in annoyance and rolled his eyes, but didn't bother to cast the dark clouds away. Oliver took a few steps away from Mohinder, this new revelation making his head spin. "What the hell are we supposed to do about Molly?"

Mohinder remained silent for a few moments, allowing his young friend to adjust to the news. "We'll get her back."

"_How?_" Oliver asked emphatically.

"We got Claire back. We can do it again." The truth was that Bennet had really gotten Claire back, with only a little help from the rest of the resistance, but Mohinder wasn't about to tell Oliver that. Not yet, at least. "Why don't you come inside and have a bite to eat, take a nap or something. You look exhausted."

"I _am_ exhausted, but there is no way in hell that I'm going to take a nap when there are only five of us here to help Molly. No, I need to stay out here and practice until everything about my ability is second nature to me."

Mohinder didn't bother to argue the point further. After living together for the better part of six months he knew how stubborn Oliver could be when it came to certain areas of life. "I'll leave a plate on the table anyways, but it's best when it's hot..." When he received no response from Oliver, Mohinder turned away, stalking through the fields back to the farmhouse.

* * *

**Nathan Petrelli**

Nathan pushed the chicken around his plate without interest, letting the quiet hum of conversation roll past his consciousness into oblivion. He cast a quick glance around at his comrades. There were two empty seats at the table now, one with a plate of quickly cooling food in front of it, one without a plate at all. Nobody bothered setting a place for Matt anymore. But it wasn't this sad fact that was bothering Nathan. It was the empty chair with the unattended plate of food that had him worried. The empty space had been set for Oliver, and for the second day in a row it was unoccupied. It wasn't that Oliver was neglecting his meals that was setting off red flags in Nathan's mind, it was what he was doing instead of eating. Oliver had been spending as much time as possible outside, fine-tuning his ability. Normally such attention to preparedness would encourage Nathan into thinking he had a strong ally, but something seemed off about Oliver's behaviour. To Nathan, it didn't seem like Oliver was preparing. It seemed like he was obsessing. He wasn't sure if Oliver was obsessed with enhancing his ability or simply obsessed with Molly's rescue, but it hardly mattered. Obsession led to irrationality and irrationality led to disloyalty. If there was one thing that Nathan couldn't afford, it was disloyalty.

After everybody's meal was complete, the group silently went their separate ways. Audrey went to sit with Matt; Niki and Micah went to play Scrabble; Elise went to bed early and Claude, as was his style, disappeared completely. It was Mohinder's night to wash the dishes so he stayed behind and silently went to work. Nathan joined the scientist by the sink, offering his hands to do the drying. They worked wordlessly for several minutes, the clinking of plates the only noise between them, before Mohinder broke the silence.

"What is it you want, Nathan?" Mohinder asked, a reproachful tone marring his speech.

"Hmm? Can't I help out with the dishes every once in a while?"

"Nathan Petrelli doesn't do dishes unless he wants something in return. So either ask me whatever it is you want to ask, or leave me to do the dishes alone."

"Easy with the contempt there, Doc. We're minus a pair of hands right now so I thought I would pitch in." This reply only garnered him an annoyed, critical stare from Mohinder. Denying the point further would only cause distrust in Mohinder, so Nathan decided to out with it. "Fine. I want you to tell your friend that he can either work cohesively with our group or he can go home," he said with characteristic bluntness. "He's taken far to much interest in the advancement of his power."

"He's just worried about Molly. We all are. He's just blowing off steam."

"He isn't just 'blowing off steam', Mohinder. We've both seen this kind of behaviour before. This kind of...obsession with power." When Mohinder showed no reaction to this statement Nathan went on. "This is how it all began with Sylar. He learned of his power, he became obsessed with it, then he did terrible things. If Oliver conti—". Nathan's speech was cut off by the sharp sound of a plate being set down less than gently. Mohinder spun towards Nathan, his face scrunched with indignation.

"I can't believe that you just compared the two. You don't know him. Oliver is a good kid. Sylar is a monster."

"Forgive me if you think this is rude, Doc," Nathan replied with a chill, "but you unknowingly led Sylar himself to several people who he subsequently murdered. I wouldn't call you judgment of character exactly reliable."

Mohinder fixed Nathan with a raw, fiery glare, his nostrils flaring for several silent moments before he replied. "No, I guess not." Then, before Nathan had time to reply to the insult, Mohinder stormed out of the kitchen, leaving the dishes only half done. Nathan looked after the doctor for several moments, his lips pursed in thought, before turning back to the dishes.

* * *

**Oliver Gordon and Micah Sanders.**

"Are you sure we should be doing this?" The little voice whispered in the darkness. Night had fallen on the small town and the rest of the household was asleep. Micah had been asleep, too, before he was woken by a soft voice and gentle shake. He had rolled over and looked at the clock, groaning at the dreadfully early time. "What do you want?" Micah had asked, pulling the covers over his face.

"I need your help with something, kiddo." The voice had said. Micah recognized it as Oliver's.

"Can't you get somebody else to do it?" He had complained. He could almost hear Oliver smile in the darkness.

"Nah, I need _you_ for this."

And so he had found himself, still in his pajamas, being dragged out of bed and through the hallways of the old farmhouse, the cold floor chilling his bare feet. "Are you sure we should be doing this? We could get into a lot of trouble."

"If we get caught, I'll say it was all my idea," Oliver replied nonchalantly, "which it is, so don't worry. Nobody will be mad at you. I don't plan on getting caught, though, so we have to be quick."

Micah was led through the hallways, the pair darting past any open bedroom doors, until they entered the living room where the all important computer was set up. Oliver turned it on and explained the situation to Micah as it booted. "I need your help because you're the only one who _can_ help me."

"What do you want me to do?"

"First of all, can you tell me if Hana's around? Or can you not look for her without her knowing?"

"I can do a localized search. If she isn't here then she won't know we were looking for her." After the computer had fully booted, he pressed his hand against the monitor and closed his eyes. For a moment he had almost slipped back into blissful slumber before a rush of information coursed through his mind. Numbers, files, algorithms, but no Hana. "She's not here."

"Good." Oliver replied with a crisp nod. "Here's the deal. Every night I log on and talk to Hana, hoping to get some information about Molly, and every night she is infuriatingly evasive about the whole subject. When I talk to Nathan, he's the same way. I want to know what these two are talking about behind my – _our_ – backs. Can you find their conversations on here?"

"Sure I can, but I don't know if I should. Those are private conversations. What if he asked Hana to do a search on, like, hemorrhoids or something? I don't want to know about that!"

Oliver snorted out a laugh. "Okay, how about this? Just do a search of their conversations where Molly is involved. How does that sound?" When Micah still looked apprehensive, Oliver laid a hand on his shoulder and let out a soft sigh. "Look, kiddo. I really just need to know how Mols is doing. Nobody is telling me anything around here."

Micah resigned himself to it and placed his hand back into the screen. "Fine. But no hemorrhoids."

"No hemorrhoids." Oliver confirmed.

Micah closed his eyes and concentrated, sifting through pictures, files and programs, searching for the conversations between Nathan and Hana. He found plenty of conversations between Oliver and Hana (and he had to admit, she was rather vague on Molly's condition), but any trace of interactions between Nathan and Hana had been wiped off the computer. "They're not here," he reported, his brow beginning to furrow. "They've all been deleted."

"Shit. Oh, sorry," Oliver replied, pulling a face after he swore. Niki didn't like foul language around her son. "Can you...un-delete them?"

"Yeah, just give me a minute." Micah dove back into the virtual world, passing all filed and folders, heading straight for the Recycle Bin. It was empty now, but it hadn't been not too long ago. He began pulling strings of information out of the PC and piecing them together. The older conversations between Nathan and Hana were beginning to rot and were irretrievable, but the most recent ones were still salvageable. After a few minutes of intense concentration, an e-mail message popped onto the screen, the monitor's light shading the living room in pale blue. "There," Micah said, backing away. Un-deleting files was always a hassle.

"Wicked. Thanks, pal." Oliver moved closer to the screen, slid into the chair and immediately began to read:

///// --Wireless: Molly's doing fine, Nathan. As fine as some1 can B at The Company...--

--FlyingMan73837: That's good news.--

--Wireless: She won't B fine 4 long, tho--

--FlyingMan73837: What do you mean? I thought you said they were only observing her for the time being?--

--Wireless: They were, but that was b/c the other special was still alive--

--FlyingMan73837: You mean he's not anymore?--

--Wireless: No. They killed him. He's dead. And now they will go after Molly--

--FlyingMan73837: Go after her? I don't understand.--

--Wireless: That's the way it works The Company. They focus most of their enrgy on 1 special a time, but keep tabs on the other 1. Now that the other 1 is dead, they will move on to Molly.-- /////

"That's all I could get out of that one," Micah said apologetically from behind Oliver.

"That's fine," Oliver said, his voice darker, huskier. His breathing had gotten rather heavy, sounding like it was coming from without his own body. "Did you get anything else?"

Micah nodded, pressed his hand against the computer screen and brought up the second conversation. "There was one from yesterday that I couldn't manage to get a hold of, but I did get one that was from a couple of hours ago."

///// --FlyingMan73837: Hana, are you there?

--Wireless: Off course.--

--FlyingMan73837: How is Molly doing?--

--Wireless: She's a trooper. They want her 2 use her ability, but she doesn't want 2 shwo them.--

--FlyingMan73837: That's good news.--

--Wireless: Not rly. They're trying 2 force her 2 use it.--

--FlyingMan73837: They're not hurting her, are they?--

--Wireless: Not yet. Her file says:

'Assignment Molly Walker, clairvoyant, has proven to be highly uncooperative. Threats made against her family and friends have been met with moderate success. If Assignment Molly Walker continues to delay our research, further methods of persuasion will be carried out'.--

--FlyingMan73837: I don't like the sound of that.--

--Wireless: Nathan, we need 2 get her out.--

--FlyingMan73837: Not yet.--

--Wireless: Nathan...--

--FlyingMan73837: We need her in there, Hana.--

--Wireless: She's just a little girl, Nathan!--

--FlyingMan73837: She will also be a source of great information when we have her back. You have access to files and reports, which is fantastic, but it tells us nothing about the atmosphere of the place. It tells us nothing about how the people interact. Statistics and reports don't tell us which employee's are more likely to sympathize with our cause and which are likely to put up a fight. Numbers and reports are one thing, first hand experiences are another. You need to trust me Hana. She needs to stay in there for a few more days.--

--Wireless: And what will u tell the others? That u r working on it? That new guy has contacted me every nite asking Q's. He's getting suspicious.--

--FlyingMan73837: Let me handle him. I'm trying to discredit his character so the others won't be as eager to work with him.--

--Wireless: That's cruel--

--FlyingMan73837: It's necessary.--

--Wireless: And Molly? Is her staying w/ those monsters necessary 2?--

--FlyingMan73837: Yes. You said it yourself, she is a trooper. She can pull through. She needs to stay, for the greater good.--

--Wireless: When r u going 2 tell them that u left clues lying around so The Company would find out where she lived?--

--FlyingMan73837: Never, and neither are you. /////

"That's all I got..." Micah said tentatively. Even his young mind could see the implications of this new development, this betrayal of trust.

Oliver remained silent for a long while, his eyes scanning up and down the document. He read, re-read, and then read it again, just to make sure his mind in the darkness of early morning wasn't playing tricks with him. No, it was true. It was real. Nathan had betrayed him. He had betrayed the resistance. Worse, he had betrayed Molly. Oliver took deep, calming breathes, knowing the grave implications if he let his emotions get out of control. Still, a strong wind had picked up outside, rattling the windows and spinning the weather vane on the barn. "Son of a bitch," he spat, willing a large portion of his rage to flow out of his body, intertwined within the words.

"Don't let his mum catch you calling him that. She'd be right offended." Husky. British. Claude.

Both Oliver and Micah spun away from the computer, Micah having the good sense to place his palm on the monitor and shut the system down.

"Wot you up to, boys?" Claude asked with an affable, if not mischievous smile. "Not looking at the knickers of some pretty ladies, are you?"

"No!" Micah replied immediately, shifting his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably. "What's a knicker?"

"How long have you been standing there?" Oliver demanded. He hadn't heard footsteps enter the room, even though he had his ears peeled for movement about the house.

"Standing? Well not too long, I should think. I was lyin' down over by the window, taking a nap when I should 'ave been on the lookout. Or 'ave you forgotten that we do that 'round 'ere?" His voice was mocking, smarmy, as if it should have been obvious an invisible man was taking a nap by the window. Claude's face grew grave after a moment, the mockery melting away from his features. "But I was standin' 'ere long enough to see wot you two blokes pulled up on that screen."

"And?" Oliver asked, slowly rising from his seat. Claude was the one person in the house whose allegiance was completely unknown, which made Oliver acutely uncomfortable. What if he was tightly aligned with Nathan? Would Claude wake the resistance leader and turn in the two rebels? Or would he take care of them himself? Oliver took a small step forward, placing himself slightly in front of Micah.

Claude shot Oliver a look of amused incredulity, his mouth actually hanging open a little. "I'm not going to hurt ya, you knucklehead! In fact, I want to help you."

Oliver, still unsure of Claude's allegiances, wasn't quick to accept the offer. "Help us with what? Who says we need help?" he asked with as much slyness as he could muster.

"Gah! Don't be thick!" Claude replied, rolling his head up in annoyance. He strode forward, past Micah and Oliver, and turned the computer back on. "I saw the same message that you did. Petrelli is a smug bastard if you ask me. Always was. Never trusted him. Even so, I wouldn't 'ave believed he set the whole thing up if I didn't see the evidence myself." He smacked the side of the hard drive, frustrated with how slowly the machine was booting up. "Poor Molly doesn't deserve to be used like that. She's a right peach, that girl." The computer gave off a soft ding, indicating its readiness. "Now, where did those files go?" he said, clicking madly through the folders.

"Let Micah find them," Oliver suggested.

Micah, however, didn't move. "I, uh...I don't think they're there anymore." His voice was shaky, nervous.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean...when Claude showed up," he said, speaking rapidly, "I had to improperly shut the system down and I didn't have enough time to make a back-up copy, I'm sorry."

There was a moment of silence, interrupted only by a brief sigh from Oliver. Claude seemed more optimistic. "That's alright, we'll just wait for the next one. Shouldn't be more than a day or two."

"Didn't you read that Hana said? Molly doesn't have that kind of time. If she doesn't cooperate, and believe me when I say that she won't, they'll..._do_ things to her. We need to help her as soon as we can."

"Wot, just walk up to everybody and tell them to get a move on? Won't work, pal. Nathan has them all wrapped around his little esquire finger. And if you 'aven't forgotten, Nathan doesn't want to help her yet."

"Well then, we discredit Nathan. Tell them what he did, why he isn't trying to help Molly."

"With what proof? Wonder boy here accidentally got rid of it." Claude said. Micah cast his gaze to the ground, shamed. "Ooo, sorry mate. Didn't mean for it to come out like that."

"We have to at least try. We'll be as bad as Nathan if we have this information and do nothing with it," Oliver continued, Micah's feeling taking a backseat to Molly's safety. "I'm going to tell them all tomorrow, at dinner, when everybody is there. I'm new here and I don't have a lot of credibility going for me, but hopefully they will listen to you. Will you help me or not?"

Claude considered for only a moment, mostly for dramatic effect. "I'm in."

* * *

**Molly Walker, London, Ontario.**

There was a knock on her cell door, followed quickly by the sound of keys in the lock. Bracken entered, a young, pretty woman trailing behind. Tall, blonde, pretty blue eyes.

"I have a visitor for you, Molly," Bracken said with a crooked smile. "She's a very nice young woman. I told her all about you and she insisted on meeting. Isn't that nice?" Molly remained silent, watchful, so Bracken continued. "Her name is--"

"I'm Elle!" The woman exclaimed, pacing forward a few steps. She sat down on the bed beside Molly, lowering her gaze so their eyes met. "You have a very pretty name, Molly. You know, I used to have a pet dog named Molly. She was a sweetheart." Bracken turned away from the girls at that point and disappeared into the hallway. The absence of his presence lifted a considerable weight from the room, allowing Molly to converse better with this new stranger.

"What happened to her?" Molly finally asked.

"Uhm..." Elle looked perplexed for a moment. "She had an accident. Yeah... it was sad."

"Oh," was all Molly could think to say. A silence filled the room as Molly thought about the best way to proceed. She knew that every time somebody entered the room it was because they wanted something. She figured this was no different. "Why are you here?"

Elle raised one eyebrow, a smirk twisting the corner of her mouth. "You get right to the point, don't you kid? I like that," she said as she stroked Molly's hair. "I'm here because those kind men out there told me that you weren't being very nice to them. All that they want you to do is find somebody. Anybody, really. It doesn't have to be somebody special or somebody you know. They just want to see how you do what you do!"

"I don't want to show them," Molly replied firmly.

"Not even for me?" Elle asked, her tones reflecting a sense of rejection.

"No. Not for anybody."

"Well... how about if I show you what I can do first? It's pretty neat!" Elle pushed off the bed and stood in front of Molly. "Watch this!" She pointed a finger at Molly's shoulder, winked, and send a sharp spark of electricity through the air and into Molly's body. Molly screeched and grabbed her shoulder, trying to to rub the pain away. She looked back at Elle with wide, scared eyes. "There's a lot more where that came from too, princess. Now why don't you show me that power of yours. We're sharing, right?" Molly shook her head defiantly, still rubbing her shoulder. Elle rolled her eyes, pointed, and shot Molly in the shin. Molly screeched again, blooms of tears welling in her eyes. "How about now?" Elle asked, menace oozing out of every word.

"No! Go away!" Molly screamed, bringing her knees toward her chest, rolling herself into a ball.

"Oh, sweetheart. You haven't seen nothing yet." Elle held both hands out in front of her, curling her fingers, palms facing each other. Sparks flew from finger to finger, an occasional charge spitting out into the air around her hand. A sound like a swarm of mosquitoes crashing into a high voltage bug zapper filled the room, stealing Molly's voice from her. Between Elle's hand, a ball of electricity began to form, white hot and swirling. It grew and grew until it was about the size of a grapefruit before Elle spoke. "Last chance, princess! Show me what you've got or I'll show you what I've got!"

Molly, to petrified to even breathe, let alone speak, simply stared, her bones rattling inside her, blood pumping loudly through her ears. Her lips twitched and quivered and her heart knocked against her ribcage.

"Hm. Pity. You're such a pretty girl too." Elle stepped forward and Molly squirmed away, pressing her back against the wall. "This is what you get for being a bad little girl!"

"Elle!" A voice, booming, furious and full of authority rang out from the threshold of the room. Cook was dashing into the room, his face twisted with anger. Elle spun away from Molly, hiding her hands behind her. To Molly's great relief, the ball of electricity sputtered out and died.

"El! What are you doing here?" She asked cheerily, shrugging her shoulders just enough to make her breasts jiggle.

"First of all, it's Dr. Cook to you. Second, if you insist on calling me by my first name, it is Elliot, not El. And before you ask, no we are not friends."

"Harsh words, Doc."

"What are you doing in here?" Cook demanded.

"Bracken let me in to have a chat with Molly-Doll here!"

"It didn't look like you were 'chatting' to me," he said, each word dripping with distaste.

"Oh, that? I was just...we were..."

"Out," Cook spat between clenched teeth, pointing aggressively at the door.

"Aw, Doc! We were just fooling around! Honest!"

"Get out, Elle!" he bellowed. Elle, knowing she was defeated, shrugged and strode out of the room, her ego still fairly in tact. Cook offered Molly a sympathetic glance before giving chase. He certainly wasn't through with her, and Bracken was due for a piece of his mind as well. He locked the room securely behind him and stomped down the hallway.

Hot tears streamed down Molly's face, the sudden silence of the room broken only by her choked sobs of anguish. She sat against the wall, clutching the blanket of the bed, burying her face in the fabric to hide the tears. She hated it here! She wanted to go home! She wanted to watch football with Matt! She wanted Oliver to help her with her homework! She wanted Mohinder to cook her things! She just wanted to be with her family again!

She threw the blanket away and crawled under her bed, shakily grabbing the atlas that lay there. She was trying her hardest not to use her ability while she was here, she really was, but she needed to see her family. Her chin quivered violently as she fished through the small bowl of push pins, looking for her favourite orange one. She gripped it tightly as she flipped through the pages, droplets of tears falling from her cheek and nose, blurring pieces of Montana. When she saw the now familiar city of Helena on the map she went into convulsions, sobs racking her chest. She closed her eyes tightly and thought of Matt, her rock, her source of strength in times of hardship. A fuzzy image of a small room formed in her mind, disappearing an instant later. She opened her eyes and used her sleeve to wipe away the tears staining her cheeks. "Work! Please work!" she begged, placing the push pin back onto the page. She pictured Matt again, this time throwing her whole being into the process, casting away her hellish reality to find her guardian angel. Though her heaving chest was somewhat distracting, she managed to zero in on an image.

The center of the image began to clear, starting as nothing more than a pinprick, but slowly expanding outwards until the entirety of the image became clear. A barely furnished room, spacious but empty, with whitewashed walls. The same image she received the first time she thought of Matt. She let out a whimper of disappointment and prepared to back out of the vision, but something was different this time. She felt a tug pulling her mind towards the door of her vision. Could it be that Matt was actually in the facility, here to rescue her? The thought drove her forward. She passed through the door effortlessly and glided down the hallways, following whatever direction the tug indicated.

Through the hallways she went, passing by facility members unnoticed, occasionally passing through them. As she rounded a final corner, the tug became a sudden jerk, urging her towards a pair of stainless steel doors, each with a small square of glass perched near the top. She glided forward, knowing that Matt must be on the other side of those doors. If she could just see him for a second she knew she would be able to find the strength to endure her captivity. As she got closer and closer to the door, something odd began to happen. As much as there was a force tugging her forward, so was there a force pushing her back. It wasn't strong enough to stop her, but it was worrisome enough to make her stop herself and consider. A voice. She could hear a voice on the other side of the door.

"_Are you ready to start our session, Ms. Bennet?"_

Ms. Bennet? She wasn't looking for a Ms. Bennet! And that voice wasn't Matt's! It was Bracken's! That last bit of information fell on her like a ton of bricks. Bracken, the person she was trying to get away from the most, had invaded her vision. Still, she pressed on. Her ability had never failed her yet, so Matt must be on the other side of the door. She glided forward into the room and sure enough Bracken was there, standing over a man on the table. Bracken was positioned near the man's head so she couldn't make out who he was. One thing was for sure, there was no 'Ms.' anywhere around.

"_What do you say, Claire? Shall we stick with the foot?"_ Bracken mused, leaning over the man on the table and picking up a surgical instrument from a stainless steel tray. There was a brief whirring sound as Bracken made sure the instrument was operational before he stepped down the table towards the man's feet. That's when Molly's world came crashing down with the force of a tidal wave. Her ability was right, Matt was in the room. He was on the surgical table, staring at the ceiling with a vapid, resigned look in his eyes. The terrible whirring sound erupted at Matt's feet, followed by the nauseating noises of the blade ripping through skin, muscle and bone, spattering blood across the room. Although the droplets passed through her, Molly still felt like they were dripping down her face, coating her body from head to toe. Her face scrunched in horror as she watched, her breathe remaining in her long enough to exude a bloodcurdling, horrified scream that would break the hearts of even the most calloused of souls.

* * *

**Matt Parkman, Helena, Montana.**

"_Your father used to call you Claire-Bear didn't he?" Bracken asked, squatting down beside the assignment whose mind he had broken. His inquiry was met with silence. "Still not talking, eh? No matter. It's not your brain I'm interested in anyways. It's your body. But you already know that, don't you?" He took a moment to dramatically look at his watch. "You also know that your next appointment is upon us. Come on, up you get!" Bracken placed a shoulder under Matt's arm and lifted him to his feet. "Enjoy our little walk while you can, Claire-Bear. You might not be able to for a long while after tonight."_

_Matt had ceased to care. He let Bracken lead him quietly through the hallway without a fuss. He knew what was coming. He knew it would come again tomorrow. He knew it would come the day after that. He knew it was inevitable, so instead of trying to fight it, he simply shut a part of his mind down, drifting away to a more pleasant time in his life. Like the time his father brought him home a stuffed bear from New York. Or the time Jackie made him co-captain of the cheerleading squad._

_He could distantly hear Bracken sorting through surgical instruments, humming to himself. Matt transported himself back in time, remembering the night Zach had rescued him from his room on homecoming night, the time he had met his biological mother, Meredith Gordon, for the first time._

"_Are you ready to start our session, Ms. Bennet?" Bracken asked from a world away._

_The time he helped picked out his father's glasses. Matt thought he would hate them, but his father took a liking for them straight away. He remembered running into a burning train wreck and saving the life of a firefighter. That was a proud moment in his life._

"_What do you say, Claire? Shall we stick with the foot?" Bracken asked, leaning over him and picking up a surgical instrument from a stainless steel tray. Bracken moved towards his feet, clearing Matt's line of view to the door. A little girl was standing inside the door. She was pretty. Why was she here? She looked scared. The whirring sound of the surgical saw erupted by his feet, followed by the nauseating noises of the blade ripping through skin, muscle and bone, spattering blood across the room. The girl looked horrified, sickened. Then she let out a bloodcurdling, horrified scream that would break the hearts of even the most calloused of souls._

In that moment, everything became clear to Matt. Who he was, who the little girl was, where he was and why he was there. A flood of images and memories coursed through his mind, reminding him of his identity and casting away the illusion of Claire's memories. He sat bolt upright in his bed, one hand extended in front of him. "Molly!" he bellowed. But Molly wasn't there anymore. He was back in his own room in Helena, Montana and Molly was 1,800 miles away somewhere in Canada.

"Matt?" A voice. Tentative, unbelieving, female. "Matt! You're awake!"

Arms were thrown around him, Audrey's arms, pulling him close to her body. It was an emotional reunion to say the least, but the only word that would issue from between his lips was that of his daughter. "Molly? Molly?"

"Molly isn't here, Matt. Don't you remember?"

"Molly...," he repeated, finally making eye contact. "She found me."

* * *

**R & R please! Constructive criticism is always welcome and extremely helpful (especially to a first time writer!) Was it too long? Too boring? Too lame? Too ****cliché? Not informative enough? Too much useless information? Let me know!**


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